Du'elea
by Lirenel
Summary: An ancient ghost haunts Faramir. Will he learn the truth before it is too late?
1. chapter 1

**Du'elea******

Disclaimer= I do not own, nor will ever own, Lord of the Rings and its characters, places, etc. 

Summary= An ancient ghost haunts Faramir's dreams. Will he learn the truth before it is too late?

A/N: This is AU, because the years for the flashback are not correct, but they had to be changed for the purpose of the story. It also deals with ghosts and I had trouble writing that since I don't believe in 'good ghosts'. But I love ghost stories so I put aside my troubles and wrote this. The title means 'Nightmare', literally 'seeing darkness'. I couldn't find a word for dream. Hope you like it, and please review!

**Chapter 1**

Ten-year old Boromir lay curled up in bed, trying to block out the heart-breaking crying coming from the other bed in the room. Little five-year old Faramir was trying to stifle his tears, but in vain. Yet the small boy refused to let his older brother comfort him, turning away from the loving embrace offered. So each suffered alone.

            Boromir tensed as Faramir quietly cried out a beloved name. "Mumma. Mumma. Want Mumma." The older boy covered his ears, a childish gesture he knew, but no one but Faramir could see him. Suddenly an icy chill seemed to brush by Boromir, causing him to pull his covers tightly up to his chin. It was now a choice between freezing and listening to Faramir. //Why didn't I tell Papa I wanted my own room?// But he knew why. He _didn't_ want his own room; he needed Faramir's warm, if sad, presence as much as he knew Faramir needed him.

            The cold didn't leave, but Boromir felt himself get used to it, almost comforted by the strange chill. As he drifted off to sleep, he vaguely recognized that Faramir was no longer crying. Had he looked over at his little brother, perhaps he would have noticed the misty figure holding Faramir and rocking him to sleep.

            Boromir noticed the change in his brother as each day passed. Gradually Faramir returned to his normal, sunny self, smiling for the first time since his mother's death. Yet there was something strange in his behavior. Servants would hear him play-fighting in a field, hear the wooden swords clank against each other, but when they saw Faramir, he was alone. The little boy was also often found singing to himself, but he sang nonsense words to strange tunes. As for Boromir, nights were a peculiar time. Even in the midst of the hot summer's night, an icy chill would sweep into the room, freezing him to his bones. Yet Faramir seemed not to feel it, but instead would calmly fall to sleep to the soft whispers of the wind.

            Indeed, though Boromir thought his brother's actions strange, he did not worry. He attributed most of it to their mother's death, heartbreaking for one so young. One thing confused Boromir, though, and that was Faramir's insistence of the existence of an imaginary woman whom he called 'Ámee Miriel'. The elder boy had always thoughts his little brother to be too unimaginative for that sort of thing. Faramir preferred stories to playing, the finite to the make-believe. So his belief in this Ámee Miriel startled Boromir, but still it did not worry him overly…until a fateful day when he saw exactly what Faramir's 'imaginary' friend could do.

            "Pull. And release!" The arrow hit the edge of the target and Boromir sighed. He and several other noble's sons were being taught how to fight with a bow and arrow. //I hate archery. I would much rather be using a sword.// Actually, Boromir was doing quite good compared to his peers. Since it was the first time using a bow for most of them, arrows were flying everywhere, usually no where near the targets.

            Most of the boys did better as practice went on, though not all. The archery instructor, Cugildor, had taken aside one boy in an attempt to help him at least draw the bow back correctly. The rest of the boys were joking around, talking more than practicing. It was then that Boromir noticed the small figure of his brother wandering near the targets. He frowned, knowing how dangerous it was to be walking in the target field. "Faramir!" Boromir tried to wave his brother away from the field, but the five-year old didn't understand and just waved back.

            Hearing Boromir's call, Cugildor looked up and spotted the young lord. Before he could do anything, however, the boy he had been helping lost his hold on the arrow he was aiming. Boromir watching in horror as the arrow sped toward Faramir.

            In that split second, Faramir suddenly fell to the ground as if pushed. To the amazement of everyone there, the arrow stopped in midair. Boromir ran to his terrified brother, faltering only once when the motionless bolt inexplicably broke and fell lightly onto the grass. Again Boromir felt the icy chill that haunted his nights, this time growing stronger, colder. A wind picked up and soon everyone on the field was shivering uncontrollably. 

            Hugging Faramir tightly, Boromir watched in both delight and terror as a dark mist condensed before them and moved angrily towards Cugildor and the boy who had shot the arrow. Faramir, who before had been frozen by fear, stirred and cried out. "Ámee!" Strangely the mist seemed to _hesitate_. "Ámee Miriel, don't hurt him!" Almost as quickly as it appeared, the mist dissipated.

            The frozen boys looked to Cugildor for answers to what had happened. The archery master looked as if he were pondering something surprising but not unknown. Finally, he tried to smile reassuringly. "I have heard from those smarter than I that mist can be caused by a drastic change in temperature. That sudden cold wind must have caused it." The children, desperately wanting to believe that it had been caused naturally, took his word for truth. Calling class off for the rest of the day, Cugildor hurried and knelt beside Boromir who held a shaking Faramir in his arms. "Lord Faramir, are you hurt?"

            Faramir shook his head. "Ámee Miriel saved me," he whispered. After what he had seen, Boromir was almost inclined to believe him, but the elder boy was startled to see that Cugildor seemed more troubled by this admission than skeptical.

            The archer looked into Faramir's intelligent gray eyes. "I think your father should be told about this."

            Faramir vehemently refused that option. "No! Ámee Miriel said not to tell Father. He wouldn't like it." Frantic eyes pleaded with Cugildor. "Please don't tell him."

            Against his instinct and beliefs, Cugildor reluctantly agreed. "Very well, my lord. Unless asked directly, I will not speak of Ámee Miriel to the Steward." 

            Boromir walked a still shaken Faramir back to their room. Unsure of what to do, Boromir said what he hoped his mother would have said. "You should rest, 'Mir. You'll feel better after a nap."

            Although Faramir usually rebelled against taking naps, having an arrow shot at him had made him loose his will to argue. Curling up on his bed, Faramir reached out his arms. "Hug." Of course Boromir couldn't refuse his little brother's pleading eyes. "I was scared Bem," he confessed, using the name he had called Boromir when he was younger.

            Boromir gently tucked the cover over the child and ruffled his dark hair. "So was I, 'Mir." The icy chill brushed past him and he shuddered, as much from fear as the cold.

            "Ámee Miriel won't hurt you. She'd never hurt anyone who I care about."

Faramir's words did not make Boromir feel better, but he didn't let it show. "Go to sleep, little brother."

            Boromir spent the rest of the day wandering around. He tried to forget what had happened in archery practice, but every light breeze brought his mind back. What, or who, had saved Faramir? Boromir had seen the arrow speeding toward his brother, see it stop before it hit. //Is Ámee Miriel more that just an imaginary friend?// He shook his head angrily. //That's silly, of course she's made up. It was just a strange accident.// Yet still Boromir's heart was troubled.

            That evening as usual, Boromir met his father in the dining hall for supper. After pausing and looking to the West as was customary, they sat down to eat. Boromir noticed that Faramir was not with them.

            Steward Denethor seemed to notice the same thing. "Boromir, where is your brother?"

            "He is probably still asleep, Papa."

            Denethor frowned. "Asleep?" Boromir nodded. "I suppose that bit of excitement at the archery field today tired him." Boromir head shot up, eyes widening in surprise. The Steward gave a grim smile. "Yes, my son, I know. Cugildor spoke to me about Faramir's close escape from a wayward arrow, though not in detail." Denethor's sharp eyes narrowing in on Boromir. "Perhaps you would wish to speak of it to me?"

            Boromir squirmed under his father's stare. Denethor's stormy gray eyes always seemed to compel the boy to say things he didn't want to reveal. "It was just an accident. One of the other boys was getting helped by Cugildor when he lost control of the arrow. Faramir had wandered into the field and it was luck that kept him from being hit." The thought //or Ámee Miriel.// came unbidden to his mind.

            The Steward seemed to see this and knew his son held something back. "That is not all that happened, was it?"

            Denethor's steely gaze finally broke Boromir, and he blurted out the truth. "That arrow was headed straight towards Faramir but it just stopped in mid-air." Denethor's forehead creased, but he didn't interrupt. "Then it got really cold and a dark mist formed on the field and headed towards the boy who had shot the arrow, but Faramir shouted at it and it disappeared."

            The Steward's face didn't change except whitening slightly. "What did Faramir say?"

            Boromir looked down, ashamed that he had said so much already. "He…he just called out something, Papa. It probably didn't have anything…"

            "What.Did.He.Say?"

            "The boy knew he couldn't hide it anymore. Though he remembered how Faramir was so against revealing anything to their father, Boromir could not stand against him. "He yelled at it, calling it by the name of his imaginary friend."

            "And this friend's name?"

            "Faramir calls her Ámee Miriel."

            If Boromir hadn't known better, he would have thought his father was afraid. As it was, Denethor stood abruptly and stalked away from the table. Not knowing what to do, Boromir hurried to catch up to his father's long stride. They stopped in front of the boys' room and the Steward pounded on the door. "Faramir!"

            "Just a moment," answered Faramir in his small voice. It took only a few, short minutes for the door to open. Denethor stormed into the room, Boromir slinking in after. Faramir, who had obviously just woken up, was surprised by the unexpected intrusion. "I'm sorry that I'm late for supper, father. I fell asleep…"

            Denethor didn't let him finish. "What is this about an imaginary friend?"

            Faramir looked from his father's angry face to Boromir. The older boy glanced down, shamed that he had broken Faramir's confidence. "I don't know what…"

            "Do not lie! Your brother has told me about this Ámee Miriel and I tell you I will not stand for it!" Denethor paused and took a deep breath before leveling a glare on his youngest son. "You are not to speak of, or to, Ámee Miriel ever again. Is that understood?"

            Faramir's eyes widened. "But…"

            "Is that understood!"

            The little boy fought back tears. "Y…yes, father."

            "Very well. See that you do not disobey me." Without a backward look, Denethor stalked away, leaving the brothers alone.

            Boromir stood awkwardly in front of his teary-eyed bother. "Mir…I'm sorry. I didn't _mean _to tell him, it just…came out." Faramir turned from him and walked shakily over to the window, staring out into the East. "Mir!"

            As the older boy moved closer he realized that little Faramir was quietly crying. "She wouldn't hurt me, Bem. She wouldn't…wouldn't hurt anyone. Why is father scared of her?"

            Boromir put his hand on Faramir's shoulder. "Papa isn't scared."

            "Yes he is! He's scared and because of that I'm going to lose Ámee Miriel!" Faramir's voice dropped to a whisper. Just like I lost Mumma."

            Kneeling to be eye level with his brother, Boromir hugged him. "You have me, 'Mir. I'll always be here for you. Always."

            Contrary to Boromir's belief, the Steward of Gondor _was_ afraid. //This can't be happening. Not now, not to my son.// Denethor held his head in his hands as he stared down at the papers he had pulled out. //150 years. Ámee Miriel. My son. Oh Valar, my son!// Again he read the papers, looking for some tiny glimmer of hope, but there was none. Nothing, in all the parchments detailing the secret history of the Stewards.

            Denethor found himself coming back to the same paragraph written by Steward Thorondir, his great-great grandfather.

            *~* She reappears to the next victim in childhood, and no one thinks anything of it for what child has not made up a friend? Yet it is an omen of ill portent, for exactly 150 years after the last victim, the one she appeared to falls to her evil. Always her victims are of the House of Hurin, the most recent actually the Steward himself, my father Belecthor II. None suspected until it was too late. He hid the nightmares that plagued him, and disappeared the night of the half-moon. The body was found the next morning and the White Tree was dead. *~*

            //And the White Tree was dead. The greatest symbol of Gondor, destroyed. And now that same evil is after Faramir.// A determination came over Denethor. //I will not let this Ámee Miriel have the blood of my son! I will kill him myself before I let him fall to her.// He threw the papers into a small chest, locking it with the bronze key. After only a brief hesitation, the Steward threw the key into the fireplace where the flames burned hot. He watched as the key melted slowly. //You will not have him, Ámee Miriel. I swear it.//

            As Denethor fumed, his sons stood together by the window, unaware of the cold mist in the room behind them. Ámee Miriel smiled invisibly at Faramir. *This is not the end, young one. We will meet again.* Silently, the mist disappeared as an unknown darkness grew in the green forests of Ithilien. 

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If you have any questions, please feel free to ask in a review. 


	2. chapter 2

Here's a short chapter. It takes place a few years after the War of the Ring. Aragorn is King of Gondor and Arnor, Faramir is Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien. He is married to Éowyn of Rohan and they live in the city of Emyn Arnen in Ithilien.

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Faramir bolted upright with a strangle gasp. The same dream continued to haunt him, keeping him from the rest he desperately needed. Lying slowly back down on the bed, Faramir was relieved to see that he hadn't woken his golden-haired wife. The Steward of Gondor did not want to speak of the troubled dreams that plagued his nights, even to his beloved Éowyn.

For an hour Faramir lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Éowyn's soft breathing. Finally, the sky outside the large balcony windows lightening as the sun prepares to rise. Faramir quietly got up and dressed, preparing to start a new day. "F'r?"

He turned to see that Éowyn had woken slightly, having reached for him in her sleep and not finding him. Leaning over his wife, Faramir smoothed her hair and whispered, "Go back to sleep, love. I am just getting a head start on my work." This seemed to placate her and she quickly fell asleep again.

Faramir sighed as he walked down that hall to his study. His body felt heavy, strained. Even the few hours of sleep he had gotten were more stressful than restful. 

Suddenly a hand clamped on his shoulder and Faramir's right hand went instinctively to his side where usually his sword would hang. "Good morning, my lord."

Faramir breathed out heavily and glared at the man who had startled him, a member of his personal White Guard. "Valin, please do not sneak up on me like that."

"I did not sneak up on you, my lord. I have been walking beside you for the past few minutes. You were unaware of my presence."

The Steward tired not to wince at the older man's disapproving look. Valin had been a mentor of Faramir's in the Ithilien Rangers, teaching him the ways of the woods. "I was distracted by my thoughts."

"You were distracted because you are overtired. You cannot continue to subsist on such little sleep."

Faramir, though know for his even-temper, flared up at Valin. "It is not your place to tell me what I can or cannot do, _Lieutenant_. If I wish for your opinion, I will ask for it." The surprise and hurt on the guard's face made guilt rise in the Steward's heart, but instead of apologizing he turned from Valin and stalked the rest of the short way to the study.

Collapsing into his desk chair, Faramir rubbed his forehead, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. //What is wrong with me? I don't snap like that, not at my friends.// He sighed as he lifted a parchment to read, the first of the day. //Perhaps Valin is right. Maybe I do need more sleep.// The images from his nightmare floated before him and he shivered. //Or maybe I should just never go to sleep again.//

Éowyn headed to the dining hall to meet her husband for breakfast. She frowned as she thought of Faramir who recently had been working late into the evening and rising before the sun. If he had always been one to live on little sleep it wouldn't have worried her so, but Faramir _wasn't_ like that. Éowyn knew that her husband needed sleep and that he hadn't been getting enough for almost 3 weeks.

As Éowyn entered the dining hall, Faramir was already there. He gave her that wonderful smile that still made her weak in the knees. "Good morning, love. Hungry?"

"Quite. Shall we eat?" The couple sat down to the rather light breakfast that both enjoyed. Éowyn hesitated before speaking. "Faramir, are you feeling well?"

He looked up, surprised. "I fell fine. Why do you ask?"

"You have not been sleeping well, in fact, barely at all." She frowned at the guilt that flashed on Faramir's face. "Yes, love, I have noticed. And I am worried about you."

"Don't be." In a few short bites Faramir finished off his meal and pushed his plate away. "If you will excuse…"

"Faramir! It is unhealthy!"

The Steward stood and shoved in his chair. "I learned as a Ranger to live on less sleep."

"Not for almost a month without break!"

Éowyn knew the discussion was over as Faramir's face hardened into a stoic mask. "I have work to do. Forgive me for leaving you before you have finished." For a moment his eyes softened. "I love you." He left before Éowyn could answer.

She sighed. "I love you too, Faramir." //That is why I fear for you.//

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Don't know when I'll update. Soon hopefully.


	3. chapter 3

Update time! I'm glad everyone's enjoying this story. It basically stemmed from my love of Faramir and the desire to have him be…well, you'll see in the end. 

Reviewer Responses

Callie3= Angsty and violent, hmm? Well since my evil alter ego, Evil Skittle, has a hand in writing this I would say it's a good bet. 

PUNK GOOSE= Ámee Miriel is a ghost that haunts the line of the Stewards. I'm afraid you will not learn her full identity until later, sorry. 

Arahiril= I can't answer most of your questions without revealing the rest of the story. Just know that I take the years very seriously, and work to get the numbers right. Unfortunately I had to smudge a little, but the years between Belecthor and Faramir are absolutely correct. (Actually it freaked me out a bit how easily it fit. Down to the very year.) There is a trick with Ámee Miriel's name that only a person who has read a lot into the Silmarillion and the Unfinished Tales might catch. Glad you like it!

arwens-light= Yes I actually wrote a semi-nice Denethor. Obviously I wrote that part before seeing ROTK. (grrrrrrr) Actually, I had wanted to post this before Halloween but unfortunately didn't finish it till almost Christmas. No, this isn't the third sequel, though I'm a hair away from finishing it. I'm glad you liked Boromir's nickname, I worried that it was too out of place. Hope you like this chapter.

the evil witch queen= Evil Skittle likes suffering so you can expect it!

Also thanks to Catmint, Lilya, Rathien Nikolai, and Lady In Blue2 for reviewing!

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Over the next week, Faramir slept little, though in an attempt to keep Éowyn from worrying he did rest more. Yet even that couldn't hide the tiredness that was becoming more and more apparent in his face and eyes.

            Finally the Steward's guards spoke to their captain, Beregond. As Captain of the White Guard, he easily arranged to speak to Faramir. Beregond found that Steward in the library connected to his study. He was leafing through various papers and parchments. "My lord."

            Faramir lifted his head, gave his captain a short smile, said, "Beregond, come in. Sit," and went back to the scroll he was reading.

            Beregond continued to stand. "My lord, I need to speak with you."

            Hearing the tone of voice, Faramir laid the scroll down. "About what?"

            The Captain took in a deep breath. He did not like speaking against his lord, but it was obvious that his men were telling the truth. "Lord Faramir, I have received several reports from the White Guard concerning your continued health." Though a frown instantly appeared on the Steward's face, Beregond continued. "They say you have not been getting enough sleep, and frankly I think they are right."

            "I am fine, Captain."

            "No, my lord, you are not. Your eyes are bloodshot, you are yawning even now." Faramir glared at him but Beregond glared back. It is my job to protect you, either from outside forces or from yourself."

Faramir lifted the paper he had been reading as a signal that he was ending the conversation. "You cannot make me sleep."

"No, but I believe King Elessar can."

The Steward's head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at Beregond. "You would not."

Beregond raised his eyebrows in a 'you want to bet?' look. "You have two weeks to show me that you are getting better. It is my right as your guard and as your friend. Two weeks, my lord." With that, the captain nodded his head in salute and walked away leaving a stunned Faramir behind.

That night, Faramir conceded to going to bed earlier. As his wife snuggled close to him, he tried desperately not to think of the nightmare. //It is just a dream. It is not real. Besides, I might not even have it tonight.// He was wrong.

^*^The woman screamed as he was pulled away. "Please no! No, he is just a child, he is no threat! Please!" An evil laugh chilled his soul.

He struggled as the men bound him to the stone table, above the still body of his father. "Ámee! ÁMEE!"

*Yonen sergnalit, kuvera!*

A dark shadow loomed over him, a bloodied knife lifted.

*Kuvera!*

A final prayer tore from his lips. "Eru, defeat the dark!" The knife came down to end his life. Suddenly a darkness engulfed him and he heard a voice yelling, "Help them!"

*KUVERA!*  ^*^

Faramir woke in a cold sweat. //Ai Valar, what is going on? Why does this nightmare torment me so?// Even awake the images bombarded him. The mother's plea, the child bound to the sacrificial altar. The knife held by the shadowed figure. //But what is the voice that wakes me? How is it that I understand her in the dream, yet when it ends I remember only the words, words I don't know. They sound familiar, almost like Sindarin, but not so.//

            A thought hit him and Faramir bolted upright. //Of course!// Slipping from bed, he half-walked, half-jogged to the library. Scanning the shelves, Faramir found what he was looked for and pulled a pile of scrolls down. //Yonen sergnalit kuvera, yonen sergnalit kuvera, yonen…Aha!// He pulled out a certain paper. //Ancient Adûnaic! The language of the Island of Numenor.//

Throughout the rest of the night he searched the words and translations of every Adûnaic text in the library he could find. He had plenty for he had always wanted to learn the ancient tongue but never had time. After several hours Faramir had figure out a rough translation of the words in his dream. //'Son of blood, awake.' Son of blood? What does that mean? And who is speaking?// He started leafing through more papers. //There has to be more here, something, anything.// He did not even notice the sun rising.

~*~

            Éowyn sighed and closed her eyes in frustration as Faramir walked away. A week had passed and Faramir seemed to be getting worse, not better. Finally she had confronted him, but it hadn't gone well.

*~*       "I'm fine," mumbled Faramir as he tried to get pass her in an attempt to leave their room.

            "You are not fine, Faramir. You are exhausted. And your refusal to do anything about it is hurting you _and_ me."

            Faramir forced his heavy eyes to focus a glare on his wife. "It's none of your concern. Now let me pass, I have work to do."

            Éowyn didn't move. "It is indeed my concern, I love you! And I hate seeing you like this! Let me help you."

            "I don't need your help! You don't understand, just leave me alone!"

            He shouldered past Éowyn, but she caught his arm. "Help me understand. Tell me what is haunting you!"

            Éowyn was startled by the strange look that passed over Faramir's face. His eyes saddened and his voice dropped. "Please. Leave me alone." Pulling his arm away from her grasp, Faramir walked away. *~*

            Éowyn spent the next hour till dinner trying again to think of a reason for Faramir's behavior. He worked all day, now barely leaving his desk except to get more scrolls from the library to look through. They would eat silent meals together and then he would again return to his books and papers. He would work by candle until almost morning, come to bed for awhile, then get up before dawn the next day to begin all over again. //What is driving him to do this? Why will he not let me help?//

            As Éowyn struggled to push back feelings of helplessness and inadequacy, a loud crashing noise pulled her out of her thoughts. Shouts from servants sent her running to the back stairs that led to the dining hall. Éowyn's heart almost stopped at the sight of her husband crumpled at the bottom of the long stairs.

            Beregond, who had heard the commotion, got to the Steward before Éowyn. "My lord!" To his relief, Faramir blinked and opened his eyes. "What happened?"

            Before Faramir could answer, Éowyn rushed to his side. "Faramir! Are you hurt? What happened?"

            Faramir sat up at rubbed his head. "I…I was startled and lost my balance." He bit back a groan as a painful knot formed on his head.

            "What startled you?"

            The Steward winced again at the headache. "A…umm…I think it was a cat. Shot by my feet and surprised me."

            As he was talking, Beregond was checking him over for injuries. "No broken bones that I can tell, but you need to see a healer." The captain's voice let no room for excuses.

            Éowyn and Beregond helped Faramir stand and flanked him as he walked unsteadily to the nearby Healing House of Emyn Arnen. The Master Healer was waiting for them. "A servant came and told me to expect you, my lord. My lady." He nodded at Éowyn. "Captain, if you will all follow me." The Healer had Faramir sit down on an examining table and gave him a thorough check over. "Besides that nasty lump on your head, my lord, and a few bruises that may hurt for awhile, miraculously I can find nothing wrong considering you could have seriously injured your back or broken your neck. However, I must say that your physical condition would be greatly improved…"

            "If you tell me I need more sleep, I'll cut your tongue out." Through years of experience and Faramir's annoyed tone, the Healer could tell it was an empty threat. Still he was concerned, not for his tongue, but for the Steward.

            "Since you have diagnosed the problem yourself, I can do nothing else. Good day, my lord." Faramir took this opportunity to quickly leave the Healing House. The Master Healer, though, stopped Éowyn and Beregond. "My lady, may I ask how much sleep he has had these past few weeks?"

            Éowyn sighed. "Only a few hours each night. He will not listen to me and it is getting worse."

            The Healer pondered this and nodded. "That would make sense. Irritability, slurred speech, and hallucinations are all signs of extreme sleep deprivation."

            Beregond frowned. "Hallucinations?"

            "Hallucinations are images seen…"

            "I know what they are," interrupted Beregond, annoyed. "I do not remember Lord Faramir mentioning that he was seeing things that were not there."

            The Master Healer gave the guard an exasperated look. "The cat, Captain. Have you not noticed that the Steward's House does not have cats, it has ratting hounds. And according to my sister who works in the kitchen, not only do that hounds keep the rats and cats away, they also are kept under close watch by handlers who would have noticed if one of their charges war barreling towards the Steward. That, plus the fact that I have know Lord Faramir for years and can tell when he is lying, leads me to believe that he was startled not by an animal but by a hallucination brought about from lack of sleep."

            "Éowyn looked troubled. "It has gotten that bad?"

            "I am afraid so."

            Beregond narrowed his eyes in thought and then shook his head. "You are right, I saw no animal by the stairs. My lady," he turned to Éowyn, "I told Lord Faramir seven days ago that if he did not improve in 2 weeks that I would send for King Elessar. With your permission, I would like to write him now."

            //How did it come to this?// Éowyn nodded. "I will do better that that, captain. I will write him myself."    

            Unaware of the conspiracy forming in the Healing House, Faramir settled at his desk. He didn't work, though; instead he stared out the window at the colored leaves of autumn. His thoughts dwelled on his recent mishap and the lie he had told his trusted friends and his beloved wife. //A cat? Was that the best I could thing of?// Faramir leaned back his chair. //Well, it's better than telling them what I really saw.//

*~*       

*Kuvera!*

            He lifted his head off his desk with a panicked start. Drawing a hand down his face, Faramir tried to calm his breathing. How could he have fallen asleep at his desk? Again, even the short time he slept the nightmare troubled him.

            Faramir's internal clock told him that it was time for dinner. Walking down the fall, the Steward tried to keep his thoughts away from the pain and terror of the dream. As he reached the stairs his eyes focused on a reflection in a nearby mirror. To Faramir's horror, he saw the shadowed figure from his dream behind him, holding the knife as if to plunge it into the Steward's back.

            Whirling quickly, Faramir lost his balance and fell down the stairs as the figure laughed at him from above. *~*

            He shivered at the memory and turned to the papers and books scattered around his normally neat office. Everything about Numenor or Adûnaic he could find he had looked through at least twice, yet he had found nothing. //What am I missing? I know the last king, Ar-Pharazôn, married his cousin Ar-Zimraphel and eventually got involved in human sacrifices, but there are no names of victims. How am I supposed to figure out what the dream means if I have incomplete historical records and a language I can't read or speak?// In a burst of irrational anger, Faramir picked up the goblet of wine from the desk and hurled it across the room. The glass cup shattered at it hit the floor, its ruby contents pooling on the hard wood.

            Faramir's mind played tricks on him again as he stared at the puddle of wine, seeing instead the red blood that stained the stone alter in his nightmare. The blood a young boy saw amalgamating underneath his father as he too was dragged to an altar to fulfill some evil purpose. Suddenly Faramir's mind snapped back to the present and he groaned. //Valar help me, I am going mad.//

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Hope you liked it! Actually, I'm in a benevolent mood tonight (Evil Skittle went to sleep just now) so I may just add another chapter. 


	4. chapter 4

New chapter! Known as 'In which the King-of-many-names tries to figure out what in Middle Earth is going on'. 

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            King Aragorn Elessar Telcontor, the Elfstone, Thorongil, Estel, whichever one you chose, was leaving the Tower of Ecthelion to retire for the evening. Unfortunately, fate had another plan.

            Aragorn sighed in frustration as the door opened to reveal the door warden. "Whatever it is will have to wait until tomorrow, I am going home to my wife and son."

            "Forgive me, my lord, but a messenger from Emyn Arnen has just arrived."

            "Is it an emergency?" The King frowned, concerned.

            The guard hesitated. "My lord, he says it is not, yet he seems greatly agitated and has ridden his horse hard."

            Aragorn's frown deepened. "Send him in.

            The messenger knelt before his king and handed him a letter bearing the seal of the Lady of Ithilien. "Your highness, a message from the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen."

            "Thank you." Breaking the seal, Aragorn read:

To Elessar Envinyatar, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor

            The Prince and Lady of Ithilien respectfully and humbly request the presence of His Highness the King at our city in the Land of the Moon. We wish the King to see the continuing, yet not fully complete, healing of the Jewel of the West, a healing that Envinyatar may be of mind to help with.

                        As always, sincerely your servants:

                        The Prince Faramir and Lady Éowyn

            The letter left Aragorn confused. The handwriting must have been Éowyn's for he was familiar with Faramir's. This in itself wasn't confusing, but only Éowyn's signature appeared underneath the names and it was her seal as well. Then, the wording was vague and somewhat unusual. //It looks like they are asking for help with the healing of Ithilien, but why would she ask in such a way? And is Jewel of the West a new name for Ithilien, for I have never heard that before?//

            Aragorn looked down from his throne to the Ithilien messenger who stood waiting before him. "Is all well in Emyn Arnen?"

            The messenger grew grave. "I…do not know, my lord." He seemed unsure of what to say, but Aragorn nodded for him to continue. "The land is healing, we had a good harvest, and everyone is ready for winter. However," he paused, "However, a darkness seems to have fallen over the city. We do not know what or why, but everyone has felt an evil chill in the air that does not come from the weather. The Lady Éowyn, when she handed me the letter, seemed paler as well, and Captain Beregond seemed grim."

            "And Steward Faramir?"

            "He was not there."

            Aragorn sat back in the throne. //Does Faramir even know Éowyn sent the message? And why would she call me Envinyatar 'Renewer', the least used of my names? "Healing of the Jewel of the West." Jewel of the West. Jewel.// When realization dawned on him, the King felt like hitting his head against a wall. Faramir was the 'jewel' she spoke of for '-mir' meant jewel in elvish. Éowyn was asking for his help as a healer because Faramir was probably sick. This actually troubled Aragorn for Éowyn was obviously keeping the illness from the people, and their own healers who were some of the best in the land seemed to be unable to help. Not to mention that the proud Lady was asking for help in the first place.

            The king turned his attention back on the messenger. "Rest while you can. I will return with you to Emyn Arnen at first light tomorrow."

            Dawn came soon and Aragorn bid farewell to his wife and baby son. Year-old Eldarion grabbed at his father's ear, a game he loved to play, always squealing in delight when the king wiggled his ears. Kissing Eldarion's small head, Aragorn looked at Arwen. "I wish you were coming, my love."

            Arwen smiled as she bounced her squirming child on her hip. "I know, but if it is as you believe and Faramir is sick, then we cannot risk Eldarion getting whatever it is." She gently kissed him. "Fare well, love."

~*~

            It took three days for Aragorn, his guard, and the messenger to reach the city of Emyn Arnen. As they rode through the streets up to the Steward's House, Aragorn couldn't help but think that the small city reminded him of Rivendell where he grew up. Nestled in the midst of the tall hills of the same name, surrounded by streams and waterfall, Emyn Arnen looked peaceful and beautiful against the rising sun. Aragorn knew that it would look even more elegant under the light of the stars and the moon. Yet even the beauty could not mask the dark feeling in the air around them, like some hidden evil was wrapping itself around their throats and trying to choke the life out of them.

            Aragorn noticed how, though his guards and even he himself seemed tense, almost sickened to the core, the messenger and the people they passed appeared unaware, maybe used to the darkness. //Something is definitely wrong here, and I do not think it is just Faramir's sickness.//

            After releasing the messenger to return to his home, Aragorn and his guards stabled their horses and walked up to the Steward's House. They entered into the foyer, empty except for a little boy, a child of one of the servants, who instantly bee-lined out of the room the moment he saw the royal standard carried by one of the guards. "This is a warm welcome," laughed the king, yet it concerned him nonetheless. He turned to the head of his guard. "Captain, spread your men out to find the Steward or his wife. I will search on my own." Used to his king's Ranger attitude, the Captain just nodded and obeyed. Dressed not in royal clothing, but plain attire, Aragorn headed to the one place where the people heard everything and knew all that went on in the House. The servant's quarters.

            He was halfway there when the sound of a woman crying reached his ears. Silently entering the nearby room, a pantry, Aragorn found a younger woman sitting on a barrel and holding an empty jar. "Milady?" She didn't notice him. "Milady, are you alright?"

            The woman looked up at him, thinking he was a fellow servant. "Of course I'm not a'right! The air's dark, the Lady's worried 'bout the Steward for 'e's not sleeping well, the King 'imself is coming anytime now, and …and _we're out of pickles eggs_!" She held the jar up and burst into a new set of tears.

            Aragorn awkwardly patted her shoulder and handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully. "Do not worry, milady. The king is coming to see if he can help the Steward and deal with the darkness." He smiled reassuringly. "And the king does not like pickled eggs for breakfast so that does not matter either."

            "Th…thank ye kindly." The woman tried to compose herself. "may I 'elp you?"

            "Do you know where the Steward is?"

            She nodded. "The only place 'e is nowadays. 'is study."

            //His study? If he is sick, why is he working?// "Thank you milady. If you will excuse me, I will leave you to your preparations." With that Aragorn silently disappeared, leaving a somewhat bewildered woman and an embroidered handkerchief behind.

            Aragorn heard Éowyn before he saw her. "Faramir, please open the door!" a pause. "You cannot go on like this!"

            "Like what?" asked the king as he turned the corner to find her in front of the closed door of the Steward's study. 

            Éowyn turned sharply, surprised to see Aragorn there, though relief flooded her eyes. Her voice lowered form a yell to a respectable volume. "King Elessar, thank the Valar you are here. Will you please order Beregond to open this door, for Faramir is not listening to me." She glared at the door.

            This confused Aragorn. "Will the Captain not obey your requests?"

            "He would if he was able, but Faramir ordered him to keep the door shut." Éowyn pleaded at Aragorn with her eyes. "Please help us."

            Though still confused, Aragorn knocked on the wooden door. "Captain Beregond this is Elessar, King of Gondor. Open the…" Beregond swung open the door so fast he almost smacked Aragorn in the face."…door. Thank you."

            The relief on Beregond's face mirrored that on Éowyn's. "Elbereth bless you for coming, my lord. I pray you can knock some sense into Lord Faramir."

            Stepping into the room, Aragorn could certainly see why they were worried. One thing he knew about Faramir that never had changed was his penchant for neatness. Faramir wasn't compulsive about it, but the king could always count on his Steward to be tidy and ordered. So walking into the usually clean study and seeing the mess of papers, books, quills, and melted candles that littered the floor and furniture, instantly alerted Aragorn that something was definitely wrong.

            The king surveyed the study, his eyes settling on the hunched-over figure sitting at the desk. "Faramir?" The figure didn't seem to notice his presence, continuing to read the book he was bent over and muttering to himself. "Faramir!"

            Startled, the Steward snapped his head up, wincing at the sudden movement. Faramir's eyes widened and he stood up quickly when he saw who had interrupted his solitude. "King Elessar! What're you doing here?"

            Aragorn leveled him with a royal gaze, nothing the Steward's slurred speech and uncharacteristic bluntness. "I received an intriguing message from Ithilien. When I arrived I find that the land and the people I have entrusted you with have been neglected to an approaching darkness, and I find you closeted away in a room that looks like a Harad duststorm hit it."

            "Éowyn is capable."

            "Lady Éowyn is not the Steward. It is not her duty to rule Ithilien, it is yours."

            The king's recrimination did not faze Faramir. "Mithrandir took on the duties of the Steward during the war."

            Aragorn frowned, annoyed at Faramir's tone of voice, and spoke without thinking. "That is because your father was driven mad by the darkness he saw in the palantir!"

            Faramir's eyes flashed. "And I am being driven mad by a nightmare, what is the difference?"

            Aragorn realized that he had just hit a crucial point in the conversation. "What nightmare?"

            But it was too late. Faramir clamed up, having not meant to mention his dream. "Forgive me, my lord, for speaking so. Your arrival surprised me. I'd better take my leave to freshen up before breakfast."

            "Faramir…" Aragorn didn't have a chance to finish his sentence, the Steward having bowed and hastily left. //What in Varda's name is going on?//

            Aragorn met Éowyn and Beregond outside the study The Captain of the White Guard was gritting his teeth from worry and anger at being so helpless. Éowyn seemed torn between doing the same and crying. She looked up at Aragorn. "You can see why we are worried. It is like he is not even himself anymore. I do not know what to do, he has not slept in four days, slept little before then, and he will not talk to me."

            The king glanced at her, thoughtfully. "Perhaps the time for trying to talk is over." Beregond and Éowyn waited for him to elaborate, bust he just said, "I need to work on something for a little bit. I will meet you and Lord Faramir at breakfast." Aragorn started walking away, but stopped and turned back. "When I give you a signal, hold your breath." He smiled at their confusion as he left. The smile faded as he thought of what he was going to do. //But something has to be done. This can't continue.//

~*~

            Faramir splashed his face with cold water from a basin. When he looked into the small mirror above the basin, he didn't even recognize himself. Four days without sleep had left him drawn and gaunt, looking a decade older, scruffy and unkempt. Sighing, Faramir turned and put on a clean tunic. Fresh clothes, a clean face, and trimmed hair made him more presentable, but nothing could hide his blood-shot eyes and tired features. His movements were heavy and his head pounded with a perpetual headache.

            With a gloomy heart, Faramir recognized that this was killing him. Even if he did not break his neck on the stairs or set his study on fire with candles, his body could not handle much more deprivation of rest. Yet he did not dare sleep. The nightmare was becoming clearer, drawing him more deeply into the depths of an evil past.

            That was why he had refused sleep altogether the last few days. The dream had felt so real that Faramir could feel the knife against his skin as it cut into his throat. When he had woken, he found himself clutching at his neck, the pain still lingering in his flesh. Faramir then decided not to sleep again until…well, he wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he knew he wouldn't, no, couldn't sleep until then.

            "Faramir?" He heard his name spoken hesitantly and turned to see that Éowyn had entered the bedroom. Guilt gnawed at him seeing his strong wife with uncertainty on her face, maybe even…fear? Fear of him? More likely fear _for_ him.

            The Steward slowly reached out his hand and lightly brushed her cheek. "I love you, Éowyn."

            With those words, Éowyn's nerves relaxed and she moved closer to her husband. "I love you too, Faramir."

            A small, but genuine, smile crossed Faramir's face and he pulled her into a gentle embrace. Neither said anything, afraid to start an argument, but they held each other tightly, perhaps a small step towards healing. 

Yet outside in the woods of Ithilien, the darkness grew.

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OK, I am feeling _very_ benevolent tonight so I'm going to put up the next chapter. 


	5. chapter 5

Alright, this is the chapter 'In which some things are explained but make everything a little more complicated.'~*~*~ separates dream from reality.

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Breakfast was a quiet affair, no one speaking much. This was good for Faramir who was too tired to concentrate on conversation, though it did make for an awkward silence. At last Éowyn saw Aragorn remove something small from a vest pocket, a vial of sorts. The king, who was sitting at the head of the table with the Steward and Éowyn on either side, nodded slightly but firmly at the Lady of Ithilien. Figuring that this was the signal, Éowyn took in a deep breath and held it.

Aragorn, also holding his breath, uncapped the vial and held it out underneath the table towards Faramir. At first nothing happened, but then Faramir's head started bobbing and he dropped the fork in his hand so that it clattered on the near empty plate. Seeing this Aragorn plugged the bottle and stood. After counting off a few seconds he nodded again at a struggling Éowyn to signal that she could breathe again.

Faramir seemed to realize what was happening. Using all his strength, he jumped from the chair and grabbed Aragorn's arm. "No!"

Placing a comforting hand on the Steward's shoulder, Aragorn tried to reassure him. "Let the _vilkama_ work. It will give you a dreamless sleep, which you desperately need."

As his body shook from exertion, Faramir almost wished to agree; yet something was screaming at him not to allow it. "Please no." he collapsed and consciousness seemed to be flying away as Aragorn caught him. Losing the struggle against sleep, those were the only words he could whisper, a strange look on his face. "Please no. Please." At last he drifted off, eyes fluttering shut.

Aragorn turned to Éowyn. "He will not awaken until he has been fully rested, though I can also use a _metvilkama_ to wake him before then. Éowyn nodded and called for help to carry Faramir to bed. Staring at the quiet, almost peaceful face of the Steward, Aragorn figured out the last look that Faramir had given him. The king frowned with concern, wondering why Faramir would look completely terrified of falling asleep. 

Perhaps if Aragorn had known what would happen he never would have done it. For as he, Éowyn, and Beregond thought Faramir sleeping peacefully in his bed, the Steward was being drawn into the longest and most vividly terrifying dream of all.

~*~*~

"Take care of her, my friend." He watched as his father spoke to the Lord of Andúnië, his sister beside him.

"I wish we could offer both your children shelter, Celdun."

"So do I, Elendil, but that would be too dangerous with us being hunted. Take care of Lómarë and do not let her forget who she is and that we love her." His father turned to him, his face filled with sadness. "Come, my son, we must go. Say farewell to your sister."

Faramir, in the mind and body of the boy, hugged Lómarë, both crying. How do you say good-bye to your sister, your twin, your other half, not even knowing when you would see her again?

Lómarë looked at him, crying. "Good-bye, Lómdunwe."

"Good-bye, Lómarë. We'll come back for you, I promise."

Suddenly the dream changed and he found himself held tightly against his father, staring terrified at the dark men in front of them. A smaller man grinned evilly at the two. "Celdun son of Erendur and Lómdunwe son of Celdun, you are convicted of high treason against his Royal Highness Ar-Pharazôn of the Kingdom of Númenor. The penalty for such crimes is death on the Altar of Melkor the Great." The altar stood before them, already stained with the blood of other victims.

The door to the Temple of Melkor Belegurth swung open and in strode the King himself, holding tightly to and dragging in a woman who was about middle-aged. She struggled against his hold. "Pharazôn, what do you…" The woman froze when she saw the two new victims, her face paling dramatically. "No! No, you can't! Pharazôn, please!"

Seeing her, Lómdunwe tried to pull away from his father and go to the woman. "Ámee!"

Pharazôn walked up and hit the child, the force throwing his against his father. "Quiet, boy."

"Do not touch my son," demanded Celdun.

The King of Númenor sneered at the man. "You think to demand _anything_ of me? You will die and your son will die." Pharazôn saw Celdun's eyes glance longingly at the woman who was now held back by dark-clothed guards. "And even better, Miriel is mine. I have won." He turned to the Head Acolyte. "Sacrifice the man first."

The guards holding Celdun started dragging him towards the stone altar, leaving Lómdunwe alone with Pharazôn. The boy tried to go to his father, but was held back. "Appa! APPA!"

Suddenly he felt warm, familiar arms around him. His mother had slipped free of the guards and now held him tightly trying to keep him from seeing the work of the Acolytes of Morgoth whom were chanting and dancing around the temple. As she held their son, Miriel stared with tears on her cheeks into the eyes of her husband, now bound to the altar. "Celdun. Celdun, I love you!"

"I love you too, Miriel." The sacrificial knife came down and Miriel screamed as life left her beloved. She did not even notice the wide eyes of her son who had witnessed the whole thing.

~*~*~

Aragorn checked on Faramir before he went to bed. The Steward had been asleep for over 14 hours and he figured would stay asleep for a long while yet. Something worried him though, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. He dismissed the feeling to the unknown darkness, the cause of which still eluded him. Lying down on the guest bed in a nearby room, a tired Aragorn quickly fell asleep. Yet his sleep was soon to be interrupted.

*Kuvera.* //Awake? Donwanna, tired.// A cold chill swept through Aragorn as he dreamed and even the blankets he had unconsciously pulled up didn't warm him.

*Kuvera, e kuveri en!* Aragorn sat up with a start. //Awake and awake him? What does that mean and why am I dreaming in old Adûnaic?//

It was then the king of Gondor realized that he was shaking form cold and he could even see his breath. //What? It's only early autumn, even Ithilien isn't that cold now.// Suddenly a great wind rose up, shaking the room's furniture. A strange mist appeared before Aragorn, an angry, dark cloud that swirled through the room.

The swirling mesmerized Aragorn who was still drowsy from sleep. As the mist moved out of the room and down the hallway, the entranced king followed. The mist disappeared into Faramir's room. When Aragorn entered, the mist started swirling faster and faster above the Steward's head. Looking at Faramir, Aragorn's eyes widened. "Someone, come quickly!"

~*~*~

Lómdunwe watched numbly as the Acolytes rolled the lifeless body of his father onto the floor beside the altar. Then, suddenly, he felt strong hands pulling him away from his mother. She shrieked and grabbed him back, the strength of a mother's love stronger than the Acolyte. The boy clutched her tightly and cried into his mother's shoulder as the guards tried to separate them.

Finally, the guards overpowered Miriel and dragged Lómdunwe away as she screamed and sobbed. "Please no! No, he is just a child, he is no threat! Please! He is just a child."

An evil laugh echoed through the halls of the dark temple. From the shadows stepped a dark man, if a man he could be called. His raven hair seemed to melt into his black robes and his eyes glinted obsidian. "He is a traitor, the son of a traitor. The Great Lord Melkor demands his sacrifice."

Pharazôn whirled on the Acolytes who stood frozen in fear of the shadowed man. "Do as Lord Sauron demands. Kill him!"

Lómdunwe was dragged roughly to the crimson-stained altar, still wet with his father's blood. Fear ran through him. "Ámee! ÁMEE!" Miriel sank to her knees and sobbed, still pleading almost incoherently for his life.

His wrists and ankles scrapped against the hard stone as they were bound to the altar. The Acolytes danced around him, chanting in a dark language. As he listened to his mother's weeping, he remembered the prayer she had taught him and his sister, L­ómarë, on the rare times they had all been together. He recited it now, a barrier against the dark terror. "Ara i eyar yisa menn, in Evori. Eru veldo en durran." Lord of Earth, remember us the Faithful. Eru, defeat the darkness.

The Acolytes' chanting grew louder and so the boy raised his voice. "Ara i eyar yisa menn, in Evori. Eru veldo en durran!" Again and again he repeated the prayer, a sobbing Miriel joining in, as the evil grew. The head Acolyte brought the knife down and Lómdunwe felt it slice into his throat, the pain searing. And as life left him, the only thing he could see was Sauron the Abhorred, laughing.

~*~*~

Aragorn rushed to Faramir's side, trying to hold down the convulsing man. To the king's horror, blood seeped from the Steward's neck, pale throat turned vermilion. Yet when he looked for a wound, he felt nothing, no wound, no blood. Closing his eyes for a moment, Aragorn opened them to find no trace of the blood. //What?//

A sudden strong convulsion knocked Aragorn away. "Ara i eyar yisa menn, in Evori. Eru veldo en durran!" cried out Faramir as he slept, further confusing Aragorn.

The king of Gondor again tried to hold Faramir down as he jerked and shook. Captain Beregond burst into the room with another guard, Éowyn on their heals. They were nearly blown back by the force of the wind that circled the room. Seeing her husband, Éowyn gasped and ran to his side. Aragorn shouted at Beregond. "I need my medicine bag. Quickly!" 

As the other guard ran off to get the bag, Beregond helped Aragorn hold Faramir down. "Why does he not wake up?" demanded Beregond.

The king shook his head. "I need the _metvilkama_ or he will not wake." Faramir convulsed again, seeming to fight against unseen bonds. Aragorn's mind spun. What was going on?

~*~*~

Faramir gasped for breath as the stifling darkness seemed to suffocate him. His throat ached and his mind felt jumbled, trapped between past and present, good and evil. Suddenly he was in the woods of Ithilien, but it felt painfully dark, hopeless. A voice beside Faramir startled him, a smooth, male voice that his instincts screamed couldn't be trusted.

**Save them.**

//What?// he heard children screamed in the woods, screams full of sadness.

**You must save them or they will die.**

*Kuvera.* Faramir's head jerked at the familiar woman's voice. It sounded weak and far away, like she did not have the strength to speak.

Yet her appearance seemed to anger the other voice. The darkness grew and Faramir staggered under its pressure, struggling not to totally collapse. 

**Listen not, she is trying to trick you. She wants only the destruction of you and your family, and has been luring you to your death as she lured the others.**

*Kuvera.* The Steward's confused mind didn't know what to think. He tried to block out both voices as the cold chill of the darkness tried to crush his soul. With his last ounce of strength he cried out. "Eru veldo en durran." 

~*~*~

The wind seemed weaker, yet it kept swirling determinedly, pushing down on Faramir who was now struggling to breathe. Aragorn's heart froze as the Steward whispered what sounded like a final prayer, full of pain, fear, and hopelessness. "Eru veldo en durran." //'Eru destroy the darkness.' Valar, are we losing him?// To everyone's relief, the guard ran in with Aragorn's medicine bag. Tearing it out of the man's hands, Aragorn pulled out the _metvilkama_just as Faramir fell completely limp.

"Faramir!" At Éowyn's cry, Aragorn quickly uncapped the vial, holding it under the Steward's nose, hoping he still had one more breath left.

Thankfully, Faramir's eyes fluttered open and he began gasping for air as the strange wind died down. Corking the vial, Aragorn laid his hand on the Steward's shoulder, but he was shrugged off as Faramir struggled from the bed. He stumbled towards the window, collapsing to his knees as the pounding in his head intensified. His need for fresh air gave him strength and he threw open the window, gulping the forest air into his lungs.

Faramir tensed as Éowyn's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Looking up, he noticed that Aragorn had also knelt beside him. "Faramir, what happened?" The king had sent Beregond and the guard away, hoping that with fewer people in the room, Faramir might be more inclined to talk.

He wasn't. "You drugged me, that is what happened."

"The _vilkama_was meant to give a long, dreamless sleep."

"It did not work, obviously."

The bitterness in Faramir's shaky voice was evident, which made Aragorn feel guiltier. Still he persisted in getting answers. "That was no normal nightmare you had."

Faramir shivered at the still fresh memory. "No, it is not. It is worse than any other nightmare I have ever had."

Éowyn hugged him tighter. "Please, tell us."

The Steward gave a harsh laugh. "Tell you what? That the same vision has plagued me every time I have fallen asleep this past month and a half? That I see things that aren't there and collapse for no other reason than I just can't sleep? You already know that."

"Faramir, look at your wife." Aragorn's command made the Steward raise his eyebrow in surprise. "Look at her." Faramir did and his heart clutched at the worry and fear in her eyes. "She asked for my help. That is how worried she is about you, she asked for help. And I want to help, not just because you are Steward, but because you are my friend. Tell us what you dream."

It was the pleading in Éowyn's eyes that convinced him. Closing his own eyes, Faramir took a deep breath. "Just now was the clearest it has been yet. I could see what he saw, hear what he heard, "he unconsciously brushed his fingers across his neck, "fell what he felt."

"Who?"

Faramir furrowed his brow, as some of the details faded. "I think they called him Lómdunwe son of Celdun. He was young, only 8 or 9 years old. And…" his voice choked from the memory. "And they killed him. They tied me…him to an altar in the Temple of Melkor and slit his throat like a pig as his mother watched unable to stop them." Faramir's head started pounding harder and he clutched his temples against the pain and the memories. "I felt everything: the blood of his father already spilled on the altar, the knife cutting his flesh, the evil encompassing him when the Dark Lord laughed as life left him."

Éowyn stiffened. "The Dark Lord?"

"Yes, Sauron was there, the power behind Ar-Pharazôn's throne." Faramir shivered and opened his eyes. "That is why I cannot sleep. The darkness is too great, it suffocates life." Suddenly Faramir stood, shrugging off Éowyn's comforting arms. With a heavy heart she realized that he was going back to his study. As he left Faramir paused only once, looking straight at Aragorn. "You cannot help, my lord. I fight this evil alone. Pray that I do not fail." He glanced at Éowyn, his grey eyes softening. "And take care of the ones I love if I do." 

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Is that a cliffie? If it is, sorry. Just in case anyone didn't understand, the _vilkama_ is a sleeping drug and the _metvilkama_ is the antidote. Also, all the Adûnaic is made up by me since I don't know any. I think I translated everything in the text, but please tell me if I didn't. Also Ámee=mommy and Appa=daddy. 


	6. chapter 6

Here's the next part of Du'elea. 

Reviewer Responses

Callie3= Thank you for the compliment. And as to your question, let's just say…well, nothing because that would be giving the story away.

Arahiril= Yup, I made up the Adûnaic myself as well as the _vilkama_ and its antidote. It's always fun to make up names and words. All the names of the people in the story (besides Miriel, Sauron, and Pharazon) are mixed up elvish words from the elvish dictionaries I got. Though I can't remember any at this point in time. (stupid memory or lack thereof)

Lydia2= Several more chapters, though I promise it isn't as long as Faramir's Story. (at least…I don't think it is) I don't know, I may be feeling a little generous tonight. We'll see.

arwens-light= Confusion over the ghost of Ámee Miriel is expected because Faramir is confused. It is answered a little bit in this chapter…or is it? Lol! I love being mysterious. Good luck on the SATs!

Narya's Bane= Thank's for your input. I appreciate any and all comments that would help me improve my writing. Hope you like this chapter!

Scholar= Yah, I definitely expanded on the Sil. This story is actually a little AU because I had to mess with the timeline in order to make Lómdunwe the age he was. As for answers, Faramir gets a few this chapter. Can't answer everything without giving away the end, but if you remember the first chapter with Denethor, the others before him ended up, well, dead. Bwaahaaaahaaaa! *Lirenel wacks Evil Skittle over the head* sorry, she gets out of control sometime.

PUNK GOOSE= as I told arwens-light, confusion is expected. 

the evil witch queen= I'm not gonna tell you, sorry. That would be giving away too much and where's the fun in that?

Callie3= me too. Makes me feel less guilty when I… whoops, almost gave something away. =D

I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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As the moon grew steadily among the stars, the darkness grew amidst the forests of Ithilien. And inside the Steward's House, King Aragorn of Gondor walked determinedly towards Faramir's study. He did not knock on the door for he knew the Steward wouldn't hear him. Instead he just walked in, resolved to do _something _to help. "Faramir?"

Surprisingly, the king received an answer, though only one word. "Library." Walking into the connected room, Aragorn found his Steward sitting at a table, hot tea in one hand, an old book in the other. "What are you reading?"

Faramir slammed the book down, startling Aragorn. "I don't know, I can't read it! I recognize some of the words, but I can't put it together!"

Aragorn tentatively picked the book up and thumbed through a few pages. "It is just a book of Numenorean nursery rhymes and lullabies."

"Nursery rhymes." Faramir shook his head incredulously. "I spent the last hour struggling over a book of nursery rhymes." He frowned. "Wait, you can read this, my lord?"

"Please, call me Aragorn, and yes I can speak Adûnaic fluently. Seeing as my Adar was alive when it was still being spoken, he insisted on me learning the language of my ancestors. So I can now read," he looked down at one of the nursery rhymes, "3 Cats and a Mouse sail the Sea." 

Faramir was still back on the part that Aragorn knew Adûnaic. "My lor… Aragorn. Will you help me?"

Aragorn sat down in the other chair. "That is why I am here. What do you need?"

The Steward handed him a large pile of scrolls and books. "Anything on the sacrifices before the fall of Númenor, or anything about Celdun son of Erendur or his son Lómdunwe."

Aragorn stared at the pile that was beginning to tip over. "Then we had best get started."

They spent the next two hours looking. Finally Faramir sighed and threw down the last book, which slammed hard on the table. "Nothing. There is nothing here."

"Have we looked through everything?"

"Everything I have here, which are copies of the books in the Library of Minas Tirith." Picking up the books of nursery rhymes and lullabies, Faramir dejectedly leafed through it as he leaned his chair back. All at once, he righted himself with a loud thud. "That's it!"

The king looked up from his scroll. "What is it?"

Faramir's eyes shone. "This! This lullaby! I remember now." He furrowed his eyebrows. "I do not know if that is a good thing. This complicates matters."

Aragorn sighed. "Faramir, please explain to me what you speak of."

"I know this lullaby." Almost to himself he started singing it. "_Lela thil e du. Aduné virisa Isel kuveren. Kampha kaleme e Isel. Kampha kaleme e Isel. Yanë e Erapárya, tha kaleme e Isel." _The song had a silvery feel to it, influence more by the elves than the men of Middle Earth. 

After thinking a moment, Aragorn translated it aloud. "A star shines in the night. The west dims, yet the moon wakes. Hold the shine of the moon. Hold the shine of the moon. The gift of the Great Father, is the shine of the moon." He smiled. "That is beautiful. High Adûnaic, spoken by the nobles of Númenor. Where did you hear it?"

Faramir hesitated, but he realized that it didn't matter anymore. //Even _I_ think I am going mad, this will make no difference.// "I learned it when I was five."

"Your father?" asked Aragorn, though doubtful that Denethor would have sung to his younger son.

"No, Father did not know Adûnaic. It was soon after my mother died. I was so young, I didn't understand her death. I needed a mother." Faramir shrugged and said simply, "So I made one up."

Aragorn could understand this. When his own father had died, Elrond had quickly stepped into Arathorn's place. Faramir, though, had no one to take the place of his mother. "That is understandable, but what does that have to do with the lullaby?"

"Ámee Miriel, the mother I imagined, taught it to me."

The king looked at him doubtfully. "Do you not think it is more likely that you read it somewhere?"

Faramir shook his head. "I didn't learn to read for another year. I have not thought about Ámee Miriel for years, but now that I do, nothing about her…" His forehead wrinkled and he fell silent."

"Nothing about her what?"

"Did you ever have an imaginary friend, if you pardon my asking?"

Aragorn frowned at the abrupt change in subject. "Yes, when I was about eight years old."

"May I ask how your Adar dealt with it?"

The king thought back. "He thought it was amusing, though after awhile he did try to dissuade me from playing with him. That was how I got my first pony."

"He did not forbid you from ever speaking about him?"

"No." Seeing the Steward's face, Aragorn's frown deepened. "Did yours?"

Unfortunately for the king, Faramir's mind had moved on. "Perhaps…" He sprang up from his chair, almost knocking over the now cold tea, and quickly opened the large bottom cabinets that were underneath the bookshelves. Reaching quite far in, Faramir pulled out two small chests, then two more. Leaving them on the floor, he dashed into his study and began rummaging through his desk. "Where did I put it? It's got to be here somewhere."

Meanwhile, Aragorn was sincerely thinking that maybe madness did run in the Line of Hurin, the first Steward. //Maybe I should talk to Prince Imrahil about this.// His thoughts were interrupted by and exclamation of victory from the study. Faramir strode back into the library holding a small bronze key. "Faramir, please tell me what you are doing."

For once, the Steward complied without hesitation. "My father had a tendency to lock personal things away and throw the key in the fire. Then if he decided that he wanted to get whatever it was he had locked away, he had to get a new key made. Finally the bronzesmith just made all the locks the same and had a few extra keys on hand for when Father needed them." As he spoke, he opened the first box. Rifling through it and not finding what he wanted, he shut the first box and opened the second.

Faramir hit paydirt in box number three. Yet what he found surprised him. As he finished each page, he handed them to Aragorn, a frown sharpening on his face. They finished reading in silence, neither knowing what to say. At last Aragorn spoke. "So that is what is happening. Your nightmares are caused by this Ámee Miriel and are a precursor to…" He didn't finish his sentence, but both knew what he meant. Like his ancestors before him, Faramir's dreams were a precursor to death. They kept him awake, weakening his strength until Ámee Miriel let fall the final, fatal blow.

//This doesn't make sense. Wasn't Miriel the mother of Lómdunwe? Why would she of the Line of the Stewards unless…unless we are descended from the Acolytes that killed her family.// Faramir was horrified at this revelation, but he did not share it with Aragorn, ashamed of this new heritage. Instead he gave a bitter laugh. "It does not seem fair, does it? Most families inherit land or jewels. We inherit a murdering ghost out for our blood."

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Hmmmm, does that count as a cliffie? I didn't mean to leave one. *glares at Evil Skittle who whistles innocently* might have to put up another chapter to make up for it.


	7. chapter 7

Alright, here's another chapter! I was feeling nice tonight.

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Faramir withdrew further into himself as the days passed. Nothing Éowyn or Aragorn said could draw him out of his self-imposed shell. He spent all his time in the library, looking through the papers on Ámee Miriel and tracing his lineage back to Mandur son of Úlhaw, an advisor to King Meneldil who was the son of Anarion and nephew of Isildur. Always in the back of his mind were the children screaming in his nightmares.

            As evening fell, Faramir could take no more. His tired mind and body revolted and he fell asleep at the table in the library. And the dream began again.

~*~ 

            The woman, Miriel, screamed as he was pulled away. "Please no! He is just a child, he is not threat! Please!" Sauron's evil laugh caused his heart to quake.

            He struggled as the Acolytes bound him to the altar, his father's dead body on the floor next to him. "Ámee! ÁMEE!"

            *Yonen sergnalit, kuvera!* This time, Faramir ignored the voice, recognizing it as Ámee Miriel's. //No, you will not win!//

            The Head Acolyte raised the bloody knife above him.

            *Kuvera!* //No!//

            A final prayer tore from his throat. "Eru veldo en durran!" The knife came down and again he felt the boy die.

            *KUVERA yonenit!* //Leave me be!//

            Suddenly Faramir found himself in the dark woods of Ithilien, the suffocating darkness surrounding him. He could hear the children's screams echoing through the night. His heart clenched as he realized that there were fewer voices screaming than before. //What happened?//

            **They are dying. Save them**,came the male voice from before.

            //Where are they?//

            **Find them at the source of the moon-stream.**

Faramir almost expected Miriel to speak up, tell him not to listen. In fact he half-hoped she would, but she was silent. He was no longer under her influence. He was safe…from her.

~*~

            Aragorn was finishing some paperwork before bed when a guard interrupted. "My lord?"

            "Yes?"

            "There is an old man at the door insisting on seeing Steward Faramir."

            "Send him away."

            The guard shifted slightly. "We tried, my lord. He will not leave. He said he would sleep on the doorstep if we do not let him in. My lord, he looks like he has traveled far and it is growing cold outside."

            Aragorn sighed. "Very well, bring him in. I will speak with him."

            A few minutes later, the elderly man hobbled into the room. Seeing the king, he bent slightly, obviously an effort for his worn body. "My lord, I must speak with the Steward immediately."

            Offering the man a seat, which he gratefully took, Aragorn rested his arms on the table. "I am afraid he cannot be disturbed, but if you tell me your name and what the problem is, perhaps I can assist you."

            "My name is Cugildor son of Sirdor, but it is not I who needs help. I came to help the Steward, who was a pupil of mine as a child."

            Aragorn pushed back from the table and stood. "I am sorry, but you have wasted your time. Please rest, then I will help you find a place to…"

            "She has returned, hasn't she?"

            Aragorn looked at him quizzically. "Who?"

            The old man smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Ámee Miriel. She has returned for him, as she did for his forefathers."

            Sitting down again, Aragorn stared at Cugildor. "What do you know of that?"

            Cugildor smiled slightly, the wrinkles by his pale eyes crinkling. "I know almost everything. My family has been in the service of the Stewards since the reign of Meneldil. Every 150 years we are faced with this demon, and every time our efforts are thwarted." A shadow passed over his face. "This time we cannot fail, or the line of the Stewards will end. I fear I may already be too late for the journey from my home is long and hard. Had my son survived the war, it would have been his task, but he did not and my granddaughter is still too young. Please, I must see the Steward, give him this."

            Aragorn looked at the small, aged book in the old man's shaking hands. "What is it?"

            "I do not know." The king raised an eyebrow. "Well, obviously it is a book, a diary I believe, but I cannot read the language it is written in. This book was given into the care of my family by the son of Mandur, an advisor to King Meneldil and ancestor of the Steward. No one in my family has ever read it, but I did recognize the name 'Miriel' in it. I thought…" He paused. "I thought perhaps it could hold the key to destroying this ghost."

            The king reached for the book. "May I?" With a great reluctance at letting go of his family's ancient charge, Cugildor handed him the diary. As Aragorn suspected, it was in Adûnaic. On the inside cover was written in faded ink: _'Personal Property of Lómarë, daughter of Miriel and Celdun. Keep out! (this means you, Elendur!)_ The handwriting was that of a child, not yet even ten. Aragorn started reading to himself. _Dear Diary, Lady Eãrelin gave me you today as a one year anversari anniversary gift. One year ago Appa and 'Dunie left me here with Lord Elendil and Uncle Issie…_

            Finishing the book, Aragorn sat back, stunned. Though he had skimmed over parts, the diary still cleared things up considerably. Head swimming, he realized that night had fallen and servants had come and left with refreshments for Cugildor. Looking at the elderly man, Aragorn nodded his head. "You are right, Cugildor son of Sirdor. This does hold the answers, though not the ones I expected. Come, we will find Lord Faramir at once."

            Walking towards Faramir's study, Aragorn's mind was abuzz. //I can't believe I didn't figure this out before. You would have thought I learned nothing from Ada. So much for my being the skilled Ranger, I can't even put two and two together!// Finally, they reached the study and barged right in. "Faramir. Faramir!" No answer. Aragorn checked the library. He wasn't there. Worried, the king had a servantwoman wake Éowyn. As she walked up to them in her dressing gown, still bleary-eyed, Aragorn asked her, "Have you seen Faramir?"

            Éowyn stifled a yawn. She had just fallen asleep and didn't like being woken up. Still, she tried to be civil. "Last time I saw him, he was in the study."

            "He is not there anymore." Aragorn frowned. "This is just wonderful! I finally find a clue to what is happening and he disappears!"

            The Lady of Ithilien matched his frown with one of her own. "Have you asked the guards?"

            They didn't need to. Captain Beregond rushed up to them just then, followed by two of the White Guard, one supporting the other whose head was swelling slightly on one side. "My lord Aragorn! Lady Éowyn!"

            Aragorn spoke at the same time. "Captain Beregond, have you seen Faramir?"

            While each waited for the other to speak, the guard with the injury spoke up. "I have my lord. Right before he knocked me out."

            Éowyn stared at him. "Faramir did that? But he would never…" She broke off her sentence. Who knew what he would do anymore?"

            Beregond addressed both Éowyn and the king. "The Lieutenant was found by his guard relief. He could not have been out for very long, but this is…disturbing to say the least."

            Aragorn turned to the injured guard. "Do you have any idea where he might have been heading?"

            The Lieutenant closed his eyes, trying to concentrate and ignore his headache. He had been at the scout's post overlooking the west side of the city. His job was to watch the relatively unknown entrance by a waterfall. The guard's eyes flew open. "I…I think he was heading to the forest through the waterfall gate. Lord Faramir is one of the few who know where it is."

            Aragorn bit back a growl of frustration. Even he couldn't track an Ithilien Ranger through the woods at night. "We cannot go after him tonight. The moon is not large enough to see by, we would lose the trail."

            Éowyn's glare held a pool of worry. "What, then, do we do?"

            "We wait till morning." Though everyone was unhappy with this, they saw no alternative course. As Éowyn returned to her room and Beregond walked his men to the barracks, Aragorn looked out a nearby window at the encompassing forest. //Faramir, what are you doing?//

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hehehehee! Do you all remember Cugildor? Guy at the archery field in the first chapter? Seems he knew all along about Ámee Miriel. Can anyone guess who Uncle Issie was? (forgive me that horrible lack of canonism, but it was too cute to pass up.) 


	8. chapter 8

Hi everyone, sorry for the slow update. To make up for it, here's a pretty long post. 

Reviewer Responses

Callie3= I like happy moments. Unfortunately they usually happen only after a lot of angst (at least in my stories)

PUNK GOOSE= Yes, you're supposed to be a little confused (but not so much that the story gets boring. If it does, please ask questions) And you are correct! Uncle Issie is King Isildur himself. Someday I may write a prequel, though I scarcely have time to work on the stories I have going now.

Arahiril= You're right too. Lómarë is Ámee Miriel's daughter and heir. Don't worry, everything will reveal itself in due course (hey, I think I just quoted a line from Ever After. Great movie.)

the evil witch queen= right also! Hmmm, Sleepwalking, under the control of a great evil darkness…does that count as the same thing? If so, you are right. Faramir wouldn't hurt anyone otherwise.

Scholar= Another right guess! I don't think Faramir is up to anything. Now someone who wants him…incapacitated is certainly up to something.

wrunken= nice to meet another Christian. Thank you for reviewing, I hope we do keep in touch. God bless you.

arwens-light= Glad you like the story. Good luck on the SATs. Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just pray for calm beforehand, that helps. Sorry about the cliffies, but I do seem to be addicted to them. Sorry!

Also thank you Lydia2, Nefcairiel, Lylya, and Riana for reviewing. It means a lot to me.

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When Faramir woke up, he was astonished to find himself standing alone in the woods. //How did I get here?// he had a vague recollection of leaving the city, but it was a blur in his memory. //That's it, I have officially taken leave of my senses. Let's just turn around and…// a soft glimmering that caught at the corner of his eye distracted him.

            Walking closer, Faramir knelt on one knee beside the small creek. **Find them at the source of the moon-stream.** The memory of the voice seemed to reverberate amidst the surrounding trees. Dipping his hand in the ice-cold water, Faramir realized that this was the 'moon-stream'. The clear, crystal water ran over white stones and sand, and when the moon shone on it, the reflected light seemed to echo the light of the Wanderer himself.

            Sighing, Faramir stood. His conscience would not let him return to Emyn Arnen. He didn't know if his dream spoke truly, but if it did… he had to do something. //I guess I follow this 'moon-stream'// The Steward didn't even notice that he was completely unarmed save for one small dagger that he always kept with him.

            Faramir didn't know how long he walked before he first heard them. His bones chilled as he heard the faint chants like those of the Acolytes in his nightmares. As he moved closer, the chants crescendoed, and as he peered through a tall, thick bush his heart almost stopped. In front of him seemed a recreation of the dream, a man bound to a large stone altar, surrounded by dark Acolytes illuminated only by a few torches and the moon. Before Faramir could do anything, however, the knife ended the unknown man's life.

            A heart-wrenching cry caused the Steward's head to jerk up, rustling the bush. He held his breath, but the Acolytes didn't seem to have heard him. Faramir quietly moved through the trees, grateful to Lieutenant Valin for teaching him so well. He headed to where the sound originated and where soft crying was now emanating from. 

            What he found was a small wooden cage at the mouth of a dark cave holding a little girl, who looked to be only five years old. Careful to stay in the shadows, Faramir crept up to the cage. "Little one," he whispered softly. "Child." The girl looked up and when she saw him her eyes widened in fear. "Shhhh. It is alright. I've come to help you. Do you understand?" She nodded and Faramir felt the wooden bars for a latch of some kind. Finding it, the Steward hastily opened the cage. He held out his hand to the little girl. "Come on, quickly. And stay quiet." 

            Again the girl nodded as she took his hand, and held a small finger to her lips to show that she understood. Her tiny body was clothed in rags, and Faramir now saw how small and thin she looked. //Poor child, she is probably older than she looks, maybe seven or eight. A street urchin, perhaps an orphan.// "Are there any others here? Any children? She shook her head, a sad look on her face that told Faramir all he needed to know. He was too late.

            The Steward's thoughts were so preoccupied by this as they snuck away that he forgot that the child was no Ranger. The sharp crack of a broken stick hidden beneath fallen leaves remedied that, unfortunately. The voices of the Acolytes rose as they realized that their captive was gone. Faramir, knowing he could not outrun them for he was weakened by lack of sleep, quickly picked up the girl and started running, trying to find a place to hide. Finally he found a tree with a small hollow in its base, large enough for the child to hide in. Kneeling, Faramir gently pushed her towards the hollow, thinking quickly. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

            "Anariel." Her voice quivered with fright.

            Faramir patted her head lightly. "Well Anariel, I need you to stay in there and do not come out for anything. When you hear the bad men going away, go to the white stream." The Acolytes were getting closer now and Faramir knew he had to hurry. "Follow the stream to Emyn Arnen. Do you understand so far? Good. When you get to the city, find a man in a green tunic with a white tree on it. Give him this." He pressed a small object into her palm. "And tell him everything that happened. Understand?" Anariel nodded and Faramir tried to smile reassuringly. He stood as the girl hid herself in the hollow. "Remember, green shirt with a white tree."

            Racing away, Faramir headed towards the Acolytes. //Lead them away and the girl can escape.// was the only thought running through his mind. Purposefully rustling the fallen leaves beneath his feet, he smiled grimly as the voices picked up and headed towards him. Sweat beaded his face, both from exertion and fear.

            "There he is! Take him alive!" Two Acolytes appeared in front of him. Swerving away, Faramir quickly found them coming at him from all directions. Surrounded, the Steward pulled out his dagger, knowing it was a hopeless fight. He was quickly overpowered, and his hands were bound tightly behind him.

            The Acolytes dragged him back to the clearing with the altar. Standing there was the Head Acolyte, grinning wickedly in his black and silver robes. "Prince Faramir, how nice of you to join us. We were not expecting you until tomorrow."

            "You were murdering innocents." If looks could kill, the Head Acolyte would be a pile of ash.

            "You wound me. We never kill innocents, only those who refuse to worship our Lord Melkor. And who defies him most in their purity but children? Besides, they make the best bait."

            "Bait?"

            The Head Acolyte shook his head. "Faramir, Faramir. You _are_ so naïve. And gullible, I might add. All the enemies of Melkor are so easily deluded in their view of life. You had only to hear a child in pain to come running to the rescue, headless of danger. Like your ancestors, you head not the warnings of the one you should trust and fall for the lies planted by my predecessors and myself.

            Faramir stared, his eyes widening. "The nightmare.

            "Yes, the same nightmare the line of the Stewards has been having every 150 years since the fall of Númenor, give or take a few years. The beauty of it is that we, the servants of Melkor, did not even have to make it up. It was already hidden in your mind, a memory passed down from your ancestor, the Lady Lómarë. Oh yes," The Head Acolyte chuckled at Faramir's startled look. "I suppose you believed that Miriel was after you because your ancestor was an Acolyte. Belecthor, I am told, thought so as well. All you needed was a hint of malice about her and you refused her advice." Black eyes glinted with dark humor. "Which would have been better for you."

            Faramir glared. "What do you want with me?" he demanded.

            "You will find out on the night of the half-moon." The Acolytes shoved Faramir into a larger version of the cage the girl had been in. And as the night moved on, Faramir was alone with his turmoiled thoughts, staring at the sky that would be home to the half-moon the very next night.

            Anariel stumbled over a hidden rock, cutting her foot. Dropping to the ground, she clutched her foot and blinked back tears. //I'm never going to get there. It's nearly morning and I still haven't found the white stream he talked about.// She wipe at her eyes and stood up. With a grim determination Anariel hobbled forward, not knowing where she was headed. Having lived in the streets with her father most of her life, Anariel had learned early on to live with hunger, thirst, and pain. These things would not keep her from reaching her goal. //I have to find it. I have to, I have to. Please let me find it.//

            Eru seemed to have heard her prayer, for just then the sky lightened as the sun began to rise, peeking over the horizon. To her right something glistened, and when she turned Anariel saw, to her delight, the white stream the man had told her about. Running (and limping) forward, she happily plunged her injured foot into the freezing water. It stung, but felt good at the same time. After splashing water on her face and gulping a few mouthfuls down, Anariel felt her strength renewed as she followed the stream, hopefully to Emyn Arnen. But almost as soon as the sun broke through, it again was shadowed as the clouds darkened and sheets of rain came down, drenching her instantly and dampening her spirits. Still, Anariel was determined and she followed the stream, her face firmly set with resolve.

            Outside of Emyn Arnen, two men stood in the rain at the hidden entrance to the city. Both had a look on their faces that conveyed the helplessness and anger they felt.

            Beregond felt like hitting someone, but wisely held back considering the other person there was his king. "It will be nearly impossible to find Lord Faramir's trail in this."

            Aragorn gritted his teeth, both in frustration and from the cold. "Not just nearly, it _is_ impossible. Any sign of him has been washed away. If it had not come down so hard…" he shook his head, knowing that 'ifs' were useless. "I fear we must wait for him to return.

            "But the morning passes and there has been no sign at all of him."

            The king sighed and peered through the rain as if hoping Faramir would just appear. "I know."

            Anariel's legs ached, her stomach grumbled, and her foot throbbed. The bleeding had slowed to a near stop, but she still left red footprints behind her that were quickly washed away by the rain. The only thing that kept her going was the memory of the bad men killing her father and her determination not to let that happen to the nice man with the pretty, gray eyes.

            At last the stream fell over the side of a hill and Anariel found herself overlooking Emyn Arnen. Hurrying down, she slipped through the open gate and into the flurry of people who were dashing this way and that, trying to get home or to work. Once a horse nearly knocked into her and she barely got out of the way in time. Walking up the muddy path, Anariel searched each person that she saw for the green shirt with the white tree she had to find. "Green shirt, white tree. Green shirt, white tree," she muttered to herself, the fatigue of her journey catching up to her.

            Anariel's stomach growled again, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the day before and it was nearly lunchtime. It hurt so much she felt like crying. Curling up in a ball on a dry doorstep, Anariel decided to rest for a moment. //Just a little rest. I'm so tired. Only a few minutes.// it took only a moment for her to fall fast asleep.

            "Hey, what are you doing there?" demanded an angry voice. Anariel felt someone almost stumble over her, hitting her in the stomach. Wincing, she tried to scramble to her feet, but she put too much wait on her injured foot and she lurched forward and fell against the owner of the voice, a young boy. "Wha…get off me, mudhen!"

            "Bergil!" A tall woman with brown hair streaked with gray appeared behind the boy. Anariel shrank back, hoping she wouldn't be noticed and preparing for the whack with the broom that usually followed. Instead the woman's face softened as she saw the little girl. When she reached out her hand, Anariel backed away in fright. "It is all right. I will not hurt you."

            Anariel tentatively took her hand, trusting the woman's kind eyes. Bergil, on the other hand, wasn't so nice. "But Mother, she is _dirty_!"

            'Mother', also known as Caladwen wife of Beregond, frowned at her son and only child. "As are you, Bergil, which means you get to take a bath tonight. And I do not want to hear you calling anyone 'mudhen' again, understood?" Bergil grumbled a yes. "Good. Now please set some water on the boil for tea." Caladwen led Anariel into the cozy kitchen and sat her down near the warm fire over which Bergil had set the water. Wrapping a blanket over the little girl's shoulders, Caladwen noticed her injured foot. "Oh, you are hurt! You poor dear, here let me clean that for you." She gently cleaned the cut, which was already healing, and then gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.

            Anariel was startled by this woman's motherly affection, having lost her own mother as a babe. Her father had always taken care of her, but it still wasn't the same. //And now Daddy is…// Her emotions caught up with her and she began silently weeping, startling Bergil who was standing nearby. "Mother, she is crying," he said almost worriedly.

            Caladwen turned from the tea she was making and, seeing the tears, pulled the child into an embrace. "Shhhh, little one. Everything will be alright."

            Anariel shook her head as she cried.  She tried to speak, but all that came out was, "Green shirt, white tree," over and over again.

            The woman frowned. "Did a man in a green shirt with a white tree hurt you?"

            Frustrated, the girl shook her head and tried again, more emphatically, through the lump in her throat. "Green shirt, white tree!" Reminded of her mission, Anariel stood up, pushing away from the nice woman. Caladwen held her back, and the little girl struggled to free herself. "Green shirt! White tree!"

            Though confused, Caladwen was more concerned that the child would injure herself again. "Please calm down, little one. I will take you to my husband, he wars a green tunic with a white tree on it." This calmed Anariel and the woman looked at her son as she covered her head with a shaw. "Bergil, watch the house while I am gone. Go to the neighbors if you need help."

            She picked up the girl, saddened by how light she was. Handing her an apple from the table, Caladwen stepped out into the rain and headed to the Steward's House and her husband.

            By the time they reached the House, Anariel had stopped crying and polished off the apple. Following the loud noise that could only be her husband, Caladwen turned the corner to find Beregond sending off a guard on some errand or another. "Beregond!"

            He turned, startled to see his wife. "Cali, what a lovely surprise! And who is this?"

            "Bergil stumbled over her on our doorstep, cold and hungry. You need to talk to that boy about how he should treat those less fortunate than us. Anyway, the only thing she has said is 'green shirt, white tree'. She was quite insistent."

            Beregond looked down at his forest green tunic that was emblazoned with the White Tree of Gondor, the standard uniform for the White Guard and the Ithilien Rangers. Before he could say anything, however, Anariel saw the shirt as well. Her eyes widened and without warning she jumped out of Caladwen's arms at Beregond. The Captain was luckily able to catch her and she clutched at him and began babbling. "You have to help him, please! The bad men killed my daddy and he let me go but they went after him and they'll kill him! Help him!"

            "Calm down, calm down. Help who?"

            Anariel slid out of his arms to the floor and grabbed the Captain's hand, pressing a small, cold piece of metal into it as the tears began flowing again. "Please help him, please!"

            Opening his hand, Beregond's mouth dropped open in shock. "Where did you get this?"

            "The nice man gave it to me in the trees."

            "When?" he demanded.

            "L…last night. I walked all morning to get here, like he told me to."

            Caladwen gently touched her husband's shaking arm. "What is it, love?" Beregond held out his hand and she gasped. "Is that…?" He nodded grimly as they looked down at the ring that bore the seal of the Steward of Gondor.  

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Hope you liked the long chapter. The dream-inheiritance thingy is actually something I took from Tolkien. He said somewhere that Faramir's dream of Numenor in ROTK is a memory passed down from a distant ancestor, having had a dream like that himself. Not something I believe in, but it works well in the story.


	9. chapter 9

Hi and again, sorry for the long update. Thank you for being so patient with me. Even Evil Skittle thought it would be nice to post a long chapter as a reward.

Reviewer Responses

arwens-light= Thanks for reviewing. Hey that's cool that all of you are on ff.net! Yah, I like Beregond so I decided to go more into his family, though unfortunately that is probably all you will see of them. How were the SATs?

Raksha= Sorry for the wait. I know the feeling, there are so many good stories that haven't been updated in forever and it drives me nuts!

the evil witch queen=  a few more answers here. But this is certainly not the end. We have at least one more chapter of action before the end. 

Callie3= Not do anything bad to Faramir? Why would I do that? I like Anariel as well so I decided to let her survive the story. 

Also thanks to everyone else who reviewed! 

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Éowyn's hand closed tightly around her husband's seal ring, trying to quell the fear rising in her heart as she listened to the little girl, Anariel, speak. Apparently the girl and her father had been snatched off the road as they were heading to Emyn Arnen to try and begin a new life. Separated and put into cages with other people, usually the dregs of society, Anariel and her father had been held for several weeks with little food or water. As the nights continued, more and more people were taken away and her daddy had told her to close her eyes tightly each time as they were killed. Except the last night when her father was killed and Faramir had saved her.

            //Oh Faramir, always the gallant rescuer. Why do you always have to be so noble?// A small smile flickered on her face and she sighed. //But that is what I love about him. I wouldn't have him any other way.//

            When Anariel finished her story, Aragorn stood up and walked over to a window. The rain had stopped and the evening sun was struggling to come out from behind the blanket of clouds before disappearing into night. "We must move as soon as possible."

            Anariel, who was sitting in Beregond's lap, giggled softly as the  Captain unconsciously tapped his fingers on her head as he had done with Bergil years before. "The Ithilien Company is not due back from Henneth Annûn till tomorrow at the earliest. We have only the White Guard and your own men."

            "That should be enough if we are able to pull off a sneak attack." Aragorn turned back to the table and knelt to be eye level with Anariel. "Do you think you can show us how to get back to the place where you last saw Fa…the nice man?"

            Anariel ignored him and looked at Beregond who smiled apologetically at the king. The little girl, true to her word, had told the story to 'the man in a green shirt with a white tree' and _only_ him. "Anariel, you can answer his question. He is the king." The look on her face told him she didn't understand. "It means he is…is a sort of father to all the men in green shirts and white trees."

            Although Aragorn raised an eyebrow at this metaphor, Anariel accepted it. "I can show you, Mister…" She again looked at Beregond.

            "Lord Aragorn."

            "Mister lord Aragorn. I can take you there."

            "Absolutely not!" Beregond winced at his wife's fury. "But Cali…"

            "Do not 'but Cali' me, you are not taking that child into a forest, at night, where there is an almost certain possibility of bloodshed! I am ashamed of both of you for even thinking it!"

            Éowyn bit her lip as Beregond and Aragorn hung their heads at Caladwen's recriminations. Aragorn tried bravely to stand up to her. "Milady, she is the only way we can find Lord Faramir."

            "Find another way, my lord." The woman's eyes blazed with a mother's wrath.

            Deciding to end the argument, Éowyn stepped forward. "Perhaps you could ask Anariel for directions instead of hauling her back to a place that is no doubt filled with bad memories for her."

            The two men stared at her, unused to this strange concept of 'asking for directions'. Taking advantage of the silence, Anariel spoke up. "All you have to do is follow the little white stream, it takes you right there."

            Aragorn looked at the girl, then turned to Beregond. "Captain, assemble your men."

            As he watched the stars come out and the half-moon rise, Faramir rubbed his arms in a vain attempt to warm himself, and tried to ignore the evil emanating from the cave behind him. Still damp from the day's rain, he cursed his blindness for what seemed like the thousandth time. //How could I not see this trap? Even little Bergil could have smelled that one a mile away.// 

            It all made sense now, though. During the last days of Numenor, a family of the Faithful had to go into hiding: the father and son together, the mother by herself, and the daughter with the leaders of the Faithful, Elendil and his sons. All were found and killed but the girl who came to Middle Earth and became his several times great-grandmother. But the ghost of the mother, Miriel, stayed to watch over her descendents who were being killed by Dark Acolytes every 150 years. //But why do they wish to kill us and why every 150 years on the half-moon?// He looked over at the stone alter, stained with blood. //Perhaps I don't want to find out.

            Aragorn surveyed the assembled Guard. Even some who had retired after the War had answered the call to help their Prince. He looked over at Éowyn who stood next to him, though her eyes were drawn to the darkened forest. "We will save him, my lady."

            Glancing up, Éowyn nodded. "I know we will." It was then Aragorn noticed she had changed into a soldier's uniform, obviously Faramir's since it hung loose on her shorter body. A sword was girded at her waist.

            "My lady…" The cold glare Éowyn leveled him with stopped the sentence.

            "We will save him, Lord Aragorn." Her blue eyes grew sad and her voice lowered to a whisper. "We must."

            It was late at night when Faramir heard the Acolytes coming toward his cage. Bracing himself as they opened the door, he shoved through the men and broke for the trees, only to be subdued by more men hidden in the forest.

            His hands bound tightly, Faramir was yanked to the altar where the Head Acolyte waited for him. The Steward's frustration was building. He knew that at his full strength he might have been able to break free and escape, but lack of sleep and little nourishment had drained his energy.

            The Head Acolyte gave his men a signal and they lifted the struggling prince onto the altar, tying his wrists and ankles down in a heart-chilling reenactment of the sacrifices of Númenor.

            A dark chant started quietly among the Acolytes who were all draped in black robes. The Head Acolyte raised his hands to the black sky. "Lord Melkor, we beseech thee, except this sacrifice in your fearsome name!" He turned to 6 Acolytes who were standing by a long box that was decorated with evil runes. "Bring forth the test." The six Acolytes opened the box and pulled out a long, silver sword that glinted in the moonlight.

            //And apparently it is made of a solid block of stone.// thought Faramir as the Acolytes struggled to carry it over. The Steward was startled when another group of men held down his right shoulder as they slipped his hand out of the bonds. As Faramir struggled to free himself from their hold, the 6 Acolytes dropped the sword with a clatter on the altar beside him. The Head Acolyte forcibly wrapped the Steward's hand around the hilt. "Lift the sword."

            Faramir stared at him in disbelief. "It takes six men to carry that thing here and you expect me to lift it with one hand?"

            With a glare at the Steward for destroying the solemnity of the sacrifice, the Head Acolyte dug his surprisingly long and sharp fingernails into Faramir's hand. "Lift the sword."

            Trying not to wince, Faramir acquiesced. "Very well, just let go of my hand."

            Grasping the hilt tightly, he breathed in deeply and lifted. Remarkably it took almost no effort to raise it and Faramir felt like a small bolt of lightning had hit his hand.

            The chanting of the Acolytes grew louder as their leader smiled evilly. As the sword was wrestled from Faramir, the Head Acolyte grabbed the Steward's hand and carefully studied the palm. At last the Head Acolyte shouted loudly, "At last, the true heir!" and the other Acolytes cheered. Faramir's hand was quickly rebound to the altar. "And now, the blood to wake the Dark Beast from its sleep." Pulling out a silver knife, the Head Acolyte sliced down into Faramir's left shoulder.

            Faramir gasped from the pain and his head spun. As the first drops of blood hit the stone, the ground shook, jarring his shoulder even more. "What the Void was that?"

            As the Acolytes chanted and swayed, the Head Acolyte grinned maniacally. "The Dark Beast awakens with the shed blood from the line of he who imprisoned it over 3000 years ago. Every 150 years more blood is needed to keep it alive until the true heir is found. Now as you lose blood and life drains from you, it gains life and freedom. Then the heir of the King shall die and the Beast will live, bringing terror and death to the land!"

            Faramir shuddered at the evil in this man. Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, he continued to struggle against the ropes that held him captive. "Listen, I think you have the wrong person. I am not of the line of Kings, I am just a Steward."

            The Head Acolyte barked out a laugh. "I speak not of the Kings of Gondor and Middle Earth, but the mighty line of Tar-Minyatur of Númenor through Tar-Palantir who bound the Dark Beast in elvish chains and enchanted sleep."

            This didn't make any sense to the Steward who was an avid scholar of history. "The line of Tar-Palantir ended in the Downfall of Númenor with the death of Ar-Zimraphel his daughter."

            "Ah, but you are wrong, Tar-Faramir. The line of Palantir endured through Zimraphel's daughter who would have been Queen after her." The Head Acolyte's eyes glinted obsidian. "But perhaps you did not know that Ar-Zimraphel had an elvish name. _Miriel_." 

            Faramir gaped at them. //They are mad! They have twisted history into their own warped thinking.// The ground shook again and the evil in the clearing pressed heavier against him as all the Acolytes danced and chanted around him. His eyes turned to the sword that now lay on the grass nearby, having grown too heavy for the Acolytes to place it back in the box. In the trees only a few birds sang, fewer and fewer as the darkness grew. But there was this one annoying sparrow that still trilled incessantly as if talking to him.

            The Steward stifled a gasp of realization. The chirping _was_ for him, but it was not bird. It was a signal from his Guard, calling for him. //They must be nearby!// yet he had to resist calling back, for the Acolytes would surely realize what was going on and all surprise would be lost. Faramir's breath caught in his throat as the Head Acolyte approached the altar and again drew the sacrificial knife. //Hurry!//

            Beregond shook his head and lowered the bird-whistle. "He is not responding. That means he is either in a position in which he cannot call, or he is…incapacitated."

            Éowyn clenched her hand tightly, her fingernails almost piercing her skin. //You mean dead. No, Faramir is not dead! I refuse to even consider that option.// A sense of urgency clutched at her heart as the sound of chanting drifted towards them.

            Faramir's frightened gray eyes focused on the knife held above him. As the Head Acolyte began a dark prayer in the tongue of Mordor, the knife fell lower and lower until the sharp metal pressed against his throat. Faramir willed himself to keep his eyes open, to face death bravely. //At least I have gone through this before.// he thought ironically.

            But this time he would not wake. His thoughts went to his parents, to Boromir who it seemed he would soon be joining. Then Éowyn's face flashed before him and his heart twisted. //I don't want to leave her! Éowyn!.// The chanting escalated and Faramir tensed as the Head Acolyte's smile grew and the knife pressed harder, cutting into his skin. "Éowyn," he whispered, wanting her name to be the last word on lips.

            Aragorn, Éowyn, and the White Guard crept forward, surrounding the clearing. The king hissed through his teeth at the sight of Faramir bound to a bloodied altar with a knife at his throat. A ghostly pale Éowyn touched his shoulder, a signal to hurry. Drawing his bow, Aragorn thought to slay the man holding the knife with an arrow in his throat, but that might not stop his hand in time. Focusing on the knife-hand, Aragorn held his breath. If he missed, they wouldn't be able to get another shot in, or he could even hit Faramir. Banishing these thoughts, the king took careful aim. 

            The chant ended, but as the knife moved to end his life, Faramir heard a twang and felt a fast breath of air brush his cheek as an arrow lodged in the Head Acolyte's hand, inches away from his own face. The pressure of the knife instantly disappeared as it clattered on the stone next to his head. As the Head Acolyte clutched his hand, more arrows filled the air. Yet is seemed that they glanced off the Acolytes, only piercing through an occasional underarm or knee. A thought struck Faramir. "They are wearing mail! Beneath the cloaks!" They must have heard him because the arrows stopped and he heard swords unsheathe.

            Suddenly a sharp pain ran through Faramir's shoulder, his head dizzying. The Head Acolyte was pulling himself up from where he had fallen to his knees, using the Steward's injured arm for support. Using his good hand, the crazed man picked up the knife again. "You will not escape the will of Melkor!"

            As his men charged, Beregond tried to head straight to Faramir, frustrated by the dark men that stood in his way. Finally he got a clear view of his lord and his breath caught. One of the dark men was moving to slay Faramir who lay helpless, still bound to the altar. Pulling out his dagger, Beregond flung it at the Acolyte, only to have his arm shoved at the last moment throwing off his aim. Turning to fight one of the dark servants, he could only pray that the blade hit its target.

            All of a sudden, Faramir felt the bonds loosen on his right hand. Pulling free, he grabbed the hilt of the knife as it plunged towards him. Now it was a struggle of strength that would determine if he lived or died. A struggle Faramir didn't intend to lose. With a sudden burst of strength, he threw off the Head Acolyte and wrested control of the knife. Quickly freeing his other hand and his feet, Faramir rolled off the side of the table. Struggling to his feet, he dodged through the melee towards the 'heavy' sword, intent on arming himself.

            Dispatching another Acolyte, Éowyn heard their leader shout, "Do not let him reach the sword!" She turned and saw a now freed Faramir headed for a sword that lay on the ground. But the Acolytes rallied together and while most focused their attention on the Steward, some started for the weapon.

            //Oh no you don't. If you don't want Faramir to get that sword than that sword is exactly what he will get.// Shoving through the fight, Éowyn made her way to the sword along with three guards. As the guards fought back the onslaught of Acolytes, she reached down to pick the sword up…and it didn't move. Frowning, she used both hands and all her strength to lift it. It moved an inch at most.

            "Éowyn! Get him the sword!" yelled Aragorn who was trying to make his way to her side.

            Looking up, Éowyn saw that Faramir was cornered near a tree. //No!// "Lord Aragorn, help me! It is stuck." Reaching her, Aragorn took hold of the sword. He gasped at its weight, like it was made of stone, but he felt an elvish smith's work in it. Like his own sword, Andúril, this one had only one bearer. Somehow the King was able to lift it. Bracing himself, Aragorn slowly began turning in a circle, swinging the weighted sword around, faster and faster, before letting it fly towards the Acolytes that were closing in on the unarmed Steward.

            Instinctively ducking to avoid the heavy object flying towards their heads, the Acolytes let the sword sail over them. It landed about three feet to Faramir's left. The Head Acolyte screamed. "Do not let him touch it!" Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Faramir dove towards the sword, pain ripping through him as he landed on his wounded shoulder. Yet he still managed to grab the sword, light as a feather in his hand, and stand.

            The lightning that he had felt at the first touch returned, but it was short lived for the earth rumbled again, this time so hard that everyone fell to the ground. A loud roar followed. With an evil laugh, the Head Acolyte picked himself up. "The Dark Beast awakes! The heir must be sacrificed for the chains that bind it to fall away!"

            All the Acolytes now headed after Faramir. As they stalked towards him, the Steward saw the men who had come to his rescue trying to break through. //And woman.// he noted, not very surprised. Turning his attention back to his attackers, Faramir lifted his sword so that the half-moon glinted off it. "_Kampha__ kaleme e Isel!_"

            His shout reverberated through Aragorn's heart. //Hold the shine of the moon!// He could see the nobility in Faramir's countenance, a nobility not just of Stewards. Of Kings. "White Guard to Faramir!" Aragorn shouted, brandishing Andúril.

            First Éowyn, then Beregond and the rest of the guard echoed the King of Gondor's call. "To Faramir!"

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Hmmm. Should I leave you there? After all, I didn't get very many reviews. Luckily for you I don't hold grudges so another chapter it is!


	10. chapter 10

Another chapter! Lucky you!

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            The noise was horrendous; the clashing of swords, the screams of the dying. Faramir moved through the battle as if in a trance. Soon it was over, the Acolytes dead or fleeing. The Head Acolyte was dead by Faramir's own hand.

            Catching his breath, the Steward heard a beloved voice call his name. Dropping the sword on the ground, he turned and held out his arms just in time for Éowyn to fall into them. Faramir stroked her hair, wincing when she laid her head on his chest, putting pressure on his shoulder.

            The loving moment was suddenly ended when they were shaken apart by another roar and the shaking ground. Growling, Faramir picked up his sword, grabbed a torch, and stalked toward the cave from which the roar originated. "That's it! I am ending this now!" Aragorn, Éowyn, and Beregond exchanged glances before sprinting after him as he disappeared into the dark cave.

            When they reached the mouth of the cave, however, Éowyn and Beregond hit an invisible barrier that almost threw them backwards. Aragorn, though, was able to push through the barrier, which to him was like a gel, slowing his movements. Getting through, he wasted not time in following Faramir deep into the cave.

            Running almost recklessly through a tunnel after the Steward, Aragorn barely missed knocking into him when Faramir stopped suddenly where the tunnel opened up to a large cavern. "Faramir, what…?" When the king saw what his Steward did, he froze as well. Before them in the cavern was an equally large creature, like nothing either had ever seen before.

            It was like a mass of darkness with three beady yellow eyes, two glaring out of its head and one at the bottom of its long, massive neck. A circlet of horns crowned its small head and of its seven legs 3 ended in long, sharpened talons, 4 in large paws. The clanking from its movements brought their attention to the chains that held the struggling monster in place. They seemed to be loosening so that its front paw and claw would be freed at any moment.

            "What do we do?"

            Faramir looked at Aragorn, then back at the Dark Beast, which he silently named Ungolug, serpent-spider. "Perhaps we should try to tighten its bonds."

            Aragorn stared at the flailing beast, several times their size. "I am open to suggestions. I do not even see where they connect to the wall, the torch is too small."

            "A distraction?"

            "What would distract…watch out!" They ducked as the almost freed front legs swung at them. Faramir dropped the torch and rolled to the right while Aragorn rolled left. The king heard the other man sharply intake a breath. "Are you all right?"

            Faramir gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. Moving had started it bleeding again. The scent of the blood reached Ungolug and it let out a tremendous roar of anger and hunger before lunging at the Steward. Faramir barely moved in time, holding up his sword with his good arm. "I guess I am the distraction. Hurry!"

            Aragorn scrambled to the side of the cave while Faramir tried to hold back the monster. Following the chains, the king found where they were welded to the wall. //Elvish chains, possibly from Lindon or Eregion. Definitely some sort of enchantment on them.// But whatever the elves had done to keep Ungolug bound was wearing off quickly as the links bent, almost breaking. "Aragorn!" 

            Faramir's call put him back on task. Aragorn tried pulling on the chains but the monster was too strong. He had no way to tighten the bonds on Ungolug. //Not good.// A loud shout turned his attention to the battle between man and beast. To his horror Aragorn found that the monster had somehow disarmed Faramir, his sword now lying right beneath Ungolug's dragon-like chest. The Steward was cornered.

            "Faramir!" With a cry Aragorn plunged Andúril into Ungolug's side. Though it did not do much damage to the tough hide of the monster, it was like being clawed by someone with long fingernails and Ungolug was not happy about it. Screeching in pain, it twisted its body and went after Aragorn

            As the king dodged and fought the beast, Faramir dove for his sword. Unfortunately, Ungolug had moved its body so that the sword was stuck under the large chest. No amount of pulling wound free it.

            A loud roar caused the ground to shake and Aragorn slipped on the stone he was standing on, his breath knocked out of him. As the king struggled to recover, Faramir grimly realized that it would not be in time. His frustration built. //He saved my life, yet I have no sword with which to attack it with. What am I suppose to do?// A grim idea dawned on him, though it made him feel faint just thinking about it. //But I have to.//

            Grabbing his own injured shoulder, Faramir roughly pulled so that the blood flowed freely again. The agony brought him to his knees…and the smell of fresh blood overpowered Ungolug's anger so that it turned away from Aragorn and shot its head at Faramir. Through the fog of pain, the Steward could see that his sword had been freed by the beast's movement. Crawling forward, Faramir's fingertips barely brushed the hilt before his world exploded into white-hot pain as Ungolug dug its fangs into his shoulder.

            As the agony assailed him, Faramir blindly felt for his sword. The teeth dug in harder and he cried out, but with sheer strength of will, the Steward was able to grab the sword with his right hand and swing it at the monster's head. To Faramir's relief, Ungolug released him with a howl of indignation at having its chin hit by a long metal stick. Struggling to his knees, Faramir thrust his sword straight at the large, yellow eye at the base of the beast's neck.

            Aragorn scrambled up from the rock he had fallen on as soon as the monster's attention had turned. Breathing in deeply he ran forward, intent on getting to Faramir who was losing the fight against the beast. Unfortunately, the king was stopped when the chain holding Ungolug's front legs broke. A claw swung at Aragorn. He was able to evade it, but his arm wasn't and the king heard and felt a sickening crack as the bone broke. Aragorn automatically let go of Andúril and clutched his right arm. After his head stopped swimming, he looked up in time to see Faramir stab the monster.

            Ungolug screamed so loudly, the king thought his eardrums would burst. The monster flailed and Aragorn jumped back to avoid its death-throes, expecting Faramir to do the same. But the Steward, hampered by his injury and the mind-numbing pain, could not move in time. Before Aragorn could even shout out a warning, a large, swinging paw slammed into Faramir, knocking him against the cave wall. With a yell Aragorn ran toward the Steward only to find himself right below the dying beast. The king dove to the floor, flinging his good arm to cover his head, as the massive neck fell upon him.

            Blinking at the dust cloud that surrounded him, Aragorn slowly uncovered his head. It didn't _feel_ like very bone in his body was crushed, though his broken arm throbbed. He twisted his head and looked at the dead monster. Amazingly, Ungolug's neck had curved over him instead of smashing him into the ground. Crawling out from under the carcass, Aragorn couldn't help but stare. It had only taken a sword through the its third eye to kill the massive beast.

            A pain-filled groan behind him caught Aragorn's attention. Turning, the king sprinted forward and knelt by his Steward's side. "Faramir!" The only response was another groan. Aragorn winced at the sight of the Steward's mangled shoulder. Blood still flowed and though he wrapped the wound, the king knew it needed stitched. //I have to get him back to Emyn Arnen.// Grimly he realized that he couldn't carry Faramir with his bad arm and he couldn't drag the Steward without risking further injury. //Why is it the one time he sleeps is the one time I need him not to?// "Faramir. Faramir, wake up."

            Gray eyes fluttered open. Faramir moved his mouth to speak, but a flash of pain from his shoulder caused his body to convulse. He started to slump over, but Aragorn's strong hand steadied him. "Aragorn," he gasped out.

            The king frowned as Faramir's face slowly but steadily grew paler. "We need to get you to the city. Can you stand?" Faramir nodded slightly and Aragorn supported him with his good arm as the Steward struggled to get his feet under him. Pausing for breath, the Prince of Ithilien looked over at the still body of Ungolug. "Is it dead?"

            As he painfully sheathed Andúril, the king nodded in relief. "It is very dead. Come on, we should go." With Aragorn on the right and Faramir supported on the left, the two rulers slowly headed toward the exit of the cave.

            Aragorn's hand was now slippery with blood from the Steward's wound. They were almost two-thirds of the way out, but the going was excruciatingly slow, especially for Faramir whose shoulder was agonizingly jarred with almost every step. Not that Aragorn's arm was feeling much better. //I don't think things could get any worse.//

            Obviously a bad choice of words, because just then the cave rumbled and a rock fell right in front of them. "What?" More rocks started dropping around them and Aragorn's heart clenched in realization. "Cave in!"

            Éowyn paced restlessly in front of the cave's mouth. After many frustrating tries, neither she nor Beregond nor the other soldiers could get past the invisible barrier. //Why did it let Faramir through so easily? He did not even seem to feel it like Lord Aragorn.// The only noise was the roars and rumbles from the cave that punctuated the stillness. Finally, after one last demonic scream, there was no more.

            Suddenly Éowyn felt dizzy and her lungs burned. Coughing harshly, she noticed that everyone seemed to be having the same problem. //The air. It's lighter!// Indeed the pressing darkness that had hung over Ithilien like a cloud has dissipated. //They must have beaten whatever was in there!//

            Éowyn and the guards again tried to get through the barrier, still to no avail. //Argh! Let me in!// She hit at the barrier and at that moment she heard a loud rumble and her fist passed through. Puzzled, she felt again. The barrier was gone! But as she looked inside, Éowyn realized that the cave was collapsing. "Faramir!" Unheeding of Beregond's yells, she sprinted into the cave shouting her husband's name.

            Aragorn pulled himself and Faramir out of the way of a large pile of rocks that fell at them. The two landed hard on the cave floor and Aragorn flinched at the anguished cry that tore from Faramir's throat. Standing, Aragorn reached down to help the Steward up. Faramir weakly pushed him away with one hand. "Run," he gasped out. "I can't go any further."

            Frowning, the king shook his head. "No way in Mordor I am leaving you here even if I have to carry you. Now come on, we are almost there." Aragorn managed to get him to stand, but as they faltered on Faramir was obviously leaning heavier on his king than before.

            After only a few more meters, Aragorn collapsed from the almost deadweight of the Steward and the dizzying pain from his broken arm. To Faramir, the world was darkening, falling further away. As he felt Aragorn try to pull him up, the Steward's dimming thoughts fell to Éowyn. Much as Faramir wished to see her, he could not stop fading. Losing consciousness, he gave a sad smile as he thought he heard Éowyn's voice calling to him.

            Throwing caution to the wind, Aragorn dragged the now unconscious Faramir away from a cascade of rocks. Kneeling by the Steward, thoughts jumbled through his head. //Can't leave him, he's my friend. Plus Lady Éowyn would kill me. Can't carry him, don't have the strength. What do I do?// Faintly he thought he heard a voice calling out. //Great, I'm hearing things as well.//

            The voices grew louder and Aragorn realized that they were real! Éowyn and the others were shouting for him and Faramir. The king tried to yell to be heard over the noise of the collapsing cave. "Over here. We are over here, come quickly!"

            To Aragorn's relief, they heard him and soon first Éowyn, then Beregond and the guards ran up to them. Seeing the exhausted monarch, Beregond quickly took charge. "Valin, Kersha, help King Elessar." The two guards leapt to Aragorn's side while Beregond and Éowyn supported Faramir. The world collapsing around them, they dashed through the tunnel and out of the cave just as it completely fell in on itself.

            For a moment no one moved, their heavy breathing the only sound. Time started again as Beregond felt the stickiness of blood, the lifeblood of his Steward. Quickly, but gently, he and Éowyn laid Faramir on the grass and knelt next to him. "Lord Faramir!"

            Aragorn cradled his broken arm against his chest. "He needs medical care. We must get him to Emyn Arnen immediately."

            Éowyn brushed a lock of hair away from Faramir's ashen face and reached for his hand. She frowned. "Lord Aragorn?" The king looked at her. "If the cave was collapsing and you were struggling to make it out, why did you let him drag that thing the entire way?"

            Everyone glanced to where she pointed. Still clutched in the Steward's hand was his sword. Aragorn smiled weakly. "I thought he felt heavy." That drew a quiet chuckle from the guards.

            The light moment was broken by a soft groan from Faramir. Swiftly constructing a makeshift stretcher, the White Guard cautiously lifted the Steward, sword and all, and made their way to Emyn Arnen as quickly as they safely could. Walking beside the stretcher, Éowyn's heart clenched at the sight of her husband, stained with blood and deathly pale. //Please let it not be too late.//

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Alright, since there is only a little more of the story left, I'm just going to finish posting tonight. 


	11. chapter 11

Pretty much the last chapter, though not quite.

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            As they walked up towards the Healing House, Beregond kept his mind busy by mentally reviewing the battle. Both the White Guard and the King's Guard had fought bravely against the Dark Acolytes. Miraculously, no one had died and though many had been injured, none of the wounds were serious. //Except Faramir's.// Although not trained in medicine, Beregond knew a bad injury when he saw one. And he could also see that King Aragorn's face had steadily grown more worried as they progressed.

            Everyone was relieved when they reached the Healing House. The Master Healer was already there for he usually just slept at the House. He took one look at Faramir and hurried them into a private room. Taking charge, the Healer folded his arms and leveled a glare at the people that crowded around the bed. "Everyone _out_! Out. Go. Now!" Reluctantly, everyone but Aragorn left, the king promising to inform them when there was news. 

            As the Master Healer's helpers rushed in, Aragorn stood by to assist in any way he could. The Healer checked over Faramir's injury, his face sober. "Stab wound, animal bite. A _large_ animal bite. And he has lost so much blood." He looked up at the king. "My lord, I do not know if he can survive this."

            Aragorn's face was pulled into a stoic mask. "He is strong. He will not die."

            The Master Healer shook his head and returned to his patient. "Even the strong can fall."

            After having the injured Guards treated, Beregond sent them back to their homes. The King's Guard, though, refused to leave and so the Captain sent them into another room, too tired and worried to argue. He prepared himself for the long wait, but Éowyn shook her head at him. "Captain, go home to your family."

            "But my lady…"

            "No, Captain. You have already done so much and I doubt you have rested at all these few weeks. Caladwen is probably up worrying about you so go, calm her mind and get some sleep. I will send word when there is any to send."

            Beregond reluctantly agreed and left Éowyn alone in the room. Sitting down in one of the comfortable waiting chairs, she stared at the ceiling. Painted on it was a landscape illustration of the seashore at Dol Amroth. Studying it, she noted the beautiful sunset over the waves, the seamews diving for food. The picture almost took her mind off her worries. //Which it is supposed to do.//

            The Healing House had been her and Faramir's special project. It was dear to their hearts for it had been at the Healing Houses in Minas Tirith that they had met for the first time and fallen in love. Building this House in Ithilien had been a way to repay their debt to the profession and place that not only saved their lives, but brought them love as well.

            So Éowyn sat and waited, her heart anxious. Hours passed, and as the sun began to rise the door opened. Standing quickly Éowyn looked at Aragorn, eyes wide and shoulder tense, waiting for him to speak for good or ill.

            The moments of silence were agonizing for her. Finally the king opened his mouth. "He is alive." Éowyn's knees went weak from relief and she steadied herself against the wall. "He will be fine, though he will need quite a bit of bedrest to recover fully."

            "May I see him?"

            Aragorn nodded. "He is asleep and will be for a while yet, but you may go in if you wish."

            As Éowyn entered the room, the Master Healer, tired but happy, left. Glancing at Aragorn, the Healer lifted an eyebrow. "My lord, you did not tell her how close we came to losing him?"

            The king shrugged tiredly. "Faramir is alive, that is what matters. No need to trouble Lady Éowyn with might have beens."

            "It was a very close 'might have been', my lord." But Aragorn had already left to finally get his arm looked at. The Master Healer shook his head. "Kings."

            Aragorn sat by Faramir's bedside, having sent Éowyn to another room to get some rest. The strange, heavy sword lay on the table beside him, the object of his thoughts. Again Aragorn lightly brushed his fingers over the elvish runes that ran on both sides of the sword. In Quenya they read on one side "I am Ránathil. Curubor made me" and on the other side, "The Noldor lord gave me. The King of Men wields me."

            //'The King of Men wields me'.// Aragorn turned the sword slightly and read the words that encircled the hilt. //'The Heir shall be known by the half-moon'. Ránathil, the sword of Númenor. I thought it was lost…//

*~*flashback*~*

            Little Aragorn, called Estel, snuck into his Ada's room. His hands trembled as he opened the small closet. A shining sword loomed over him on a stand. He reached out his hand to touch it…

            "Estel!" Aragorn quickly snatched his fingers back and looked guiltily at his adoptive father. Lord Elrond stood before him with his arms folded and a stern expression. "Son, you know better than to touch any weapon without supervision."

            Aragorn hung his head. "I'm sorry, Ada. But I heard Elrohir telling Elladan about a special sword you had and I wanted to see it."

            Elrond glance at the sword and back to the child's face. Reaching out, the elf lord lifted the weapon and sat down on the bed, motioning for Aragorn to sit beside him. "Estel, this is my sword, Vásathil. King Gil-Galad gave it to me at the beginning of the Second Age. See these words?" He traced the runes and Aragorn nodded. "They say 'I am Vásathil. Curubor made me. The Noldor lord gave me. The Elf-king wields me'. My brother, Elros, was given Vásathil's sistersword, Ránathil, but it said 'The King of Men wields me' instead of 'Elf-king'.

            The boy touched the weapon almost reverently. "What happened to your brother's sword?"

            Elrond sighed and replaced Vásathil in the weapons closet. "It was lost when Númenor fell. The last king could not wield it, for he took the throne wrongly, and it disappeared from all knowledge."

            "Why couldn't he use the sword?"

            "It was elvish-made. Only the true king can wield it."

*~*end flashback*~*

            Aragorn tried to lift the newly found Ránathil. He could barely move it, the weight too much for him. And yet Faramir had brandished the sword as easily as if it were any other. //So it is indeed true.//

            "Lord Aragorn?" Éowyn had returned. "Has he woken yet?"

            The king shook his head. "Not yet, though he should wake soon. Did I not send you to rest?"

            Éowyn sate down in a chair on Faramir's other side and took her husband's still hand. "I rest better here." Aragorn knew not to argue with her. Besides, he knew he would feel the same way if Arwen were hurt. So they sat in silence, watching and waiting for the Steward to wake.

            The first thing that Faramir was aware of was the aching in his shoulder. Then his memory came flooding back and his eyes shot open. Staring up, Faramir saw a landscape painting of the moon rising over Ithilien. //I'm in the Healing House.// A second though hit him. //I just woke up and I hadn't dreamt at all! Not a single nightmare!// Shifting a little, Faramir found Aragorn and Éowyn instantly at his side, asking him how he felt. "Umm, fine. Rested actually."

            Éowyn squeezed his hand. "I am glad, love. I was so worried."

            "We both were." Aragorn quickly checked over Faramir's wound with his good hand. "Are you sure you fell all right?"

            Faramir nodded, but winced at the pain from the injury. "Ah, the shoulder hurts some, but I am feeling fine. In fact, if you do not object my lord, I would like to sit up."

            Aragorn did object on principle, but he knew a determined look when he saw one. "Very well, but no more than that. You lost a lot of blood last night."

            Éowyn helped her husband as he grimaced into a sitting position, placing pillows behind him to support his back. As she moved her hand, Faramir grabbed in and brought it to his lips. He looked at his wife with sorrowful gray eyes. "I am sorry for putting you through this."

            Éowyn leaned over and kissed his nose. "I am just glad it is all over now." Smiling, Faramir gently pulled her into a soft kiss, which Éowyn happily returned.

            "I hate to interrupt," Éowyn and Faramir reluctantly separated at the king's voice. "but I am afraid it is not all over." 

            The Steward frowned. "What do you mean?"

            Aragorn stood and, with great strain, hefted Ránathil off the table and leaned it against the bed. "There is still this."

            Faramir effortlessly lifted the sword with his good arm and eyed it with a soldier's expertise. "It is a good sword. Lightweight, sharp, good balance. It feels old, though. It is hard to find a sword made like this anymore."

            Éowyn eyed the sword skeptically. "Lightweight? I could hardly move it a finger's breadth!"

            The king nodded. "That is because it is elvish made. See," he pointed out the runes. "Curubor was a great elven-smith in Lindon under the service of Gil-galad."

            Faramir looked at the writing on the sword and frowned. "Ránathil. I have heard that name before."

            "It was one of two swords made by Curubor on the order of King Gil-galad. Vásathil was given to my Adar, Lord Elrond. Ránathil was given to Elrond's brother, Elros."

            The Steward knew _that_ name. "Elros Tar-Minyatur? The King of Númenor?" He stared down at the sword in awe, turning it over in his hands.

            Aragorn smiled. "That is why the runes say it is wielded by the King of Men."

            Barely a moment passed before Faramir proffered the sword to Aragorn. "Then this is your sword, my lord."

            Aragorn smiled at the regret in the Steward's voice, regret only over the loss of a good weapon. "No, it is not mine."

            Despite Aragorn's denial, Faramir insisted. "You are the King of Men, my lord. You are of the line of Tar-Minyatur."

            "But not of the line of the Kings of Númenor." Seeing Faramir's stern face, Aragorn sighed. "Hold out your right hand."

            Curious, the Steward did so. Both he and Éowyn were startled to see a mark, like a birthmark, on his palm. The mark was shaped in a perfect half-circle. "What happened?" 

            The king of Gondor showed them the words on the hilt. "The Heir shall be known by the half-moon." It actually means two things. One: that the Heir can only be found out on the night of the half-moon. The other is that the mark of the half-moon." Aragorn looked pointedly at Faramir's palm, "on the hand is the symbol by which the Heir is known."

            Faramir stared at his hand then shook his head as if clearing his thoughts. "It is not possible. Ar-Zimraphel, the last queen, and Ar-Pharazôn had no children."

            "Not together. But the Queen, also known as Tar-Miriel, had two children, twins, by her first husband, Celdun." Aragorn pulled the diary out of his vest pocket and handed it to Faramir. "The younger twin, Lómdunwe, was killed with his father, but the girl, Lómarë, was taken in by Elendil and brought to Middle Earth. It is all in her diary: How her mother was forced to divorce her father, how her brother died, how she came to marry an advisor to King Meneldil. And how she rejected the rule of Gondor in favor of being the founder of the Line of the Stewards." Aragorn knelt next to Faramir's bedside and bowed his head in deference. "_You_ are the rightful King of Men. And I pledge fealty to you, my lord."

            Faramir could only stare wide-eyed. Looking to Éowyn, he saw her glance at Aragorn before lowering into a deep bow herself. Faramir looked down at the sword in his hands. In his heart he knew this was true. He could be king, ruler of men. The people would accept it, following Aragorn's example. All the power in the world was at his fingertips.

            Slowly, Faramir eased himself off the bed and stood before the kneeling man. "Please, Aragorn, rise." Aragorn obeyed, yet stood as one subservient to another. Faramir lifted Ránathil and held it aloft for a moment, the symbol of kingship. Then the Heir of Númenor knelt, tensing at the pain yet determined. "As my ancestor before me, I relinquish my power to the heir of Elendil. I and my heirs will serve you and yours until the end of my line." Turning Ránathil, he offered the hilt to Aragorn. "You are king."

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Awwwww. I love that part. Only the epilogue to go! 


	12. Epilogue

And this is the end. I'm sorry to see it come to a close.

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Faramir enjoyed the evenings, reading to an entranced Anariel in the House's garden. The little girl had been diligently visiting the healing Steward and some of the Healers even believed that he was healing faster because of the her attention. Right now they were reading a history of the Kings of Gondor. It had taken the Steward awhile to explain to Anariel that the kings weren't _really_ the fathers of the Ithilien Company, that Beregond had just meant that the king was in charge of them. //I do believe I will be able to kid Beregond and Aragorn about this for some time.//

            As if summoned by his thoughts, Captain Beregond appeared in the garden. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I fear it is time to take you home for dinner, Anariel."

            The girl's face lit up. "Did Mamma make cobbler for dessert?"

            Beregond smiled as his adopted daughter. "Indeed she did. Why do you not say good-bye to Lord Faramir and we will see if we can sneak some without her noticing." Anariel did so and she skipped excitedly ahead of her new father. 

Beregond and Caladwen had quickly taken the girl in as their own and Anariel thrived under their love and care. Even Bergil had come to like her, though he would never admit it to anyone. And, like Anariel, the city of Emyn Arnen was healing from the darkness that had laid over it.  

            The next morning Éowyn silently watched her husband who stood staring out the window in his room in the Healing House. The look in his eyes told her he was deep in thought about something that troubled him. She spoke up to let him know she was there. "The Master Healer says you may come home today." Faramir nodded, his eyes not leaving the view of the forest that had held so much darkness yet he still loved. Éowyn walked up and slid her arm around his waist. "Do you regret your decision, my love?"

            "No." I was the simple, but true, answer. "Aragorn is the king. He will rule well."

            "Then what is bothering you?" She glanced up and him, worriedly. "Are you still having nightmares?"

            Faramir shook his head. "No, I have been sleeping well. It is just…I made so many mistakes and people were hurt because of it. I let fear and pride keep me from seeking help, I acted absolutely horrible to everyone. Because of mistranslation and doubts, I fell into the Acolytes' trap instead of heading the warnings."

            "We all made mistakes, Faramir, mistakes that we cannot change."

            The Steward sighed. "I know. It is just, when I think of how close we came to having that…thing unleashed on the world, I feel ill."

            Éowyn squeezed him tightly. "I feel ill when I think about how close I came to losing you. I still see it in my dreams, you bound to that stone with a knife at your throat."

            She shivered and Faramir wrapped his arms around her. Gently turning her to face him, Faramir stroked her cheek. "I am so sorry…"

            Éowyn touched his lips with her finger. "No apologizing. You did that already and I forgave you."  

            Faramir smiled. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

            "Yes, but I do not mind hearing it again."

            "I love you, Éowyn." And he kissed her as the sun streamed in the window. A new day had come, the future a white easel ready for the next story to be painted.

            Husband and wife did not notice the misty figure that watched them. *Nay rommë avan lei, yonen sergnalit.* May sunrise bless thee, son of my blood. Smiling, Miriel allowed herself to be swept away by the rays of sunlight, fading away to the unknown. She was free.

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Happy ending! In case anyone didn't understand, Miriel is actually Tar-Miriel the last queen of Numenor. In this story she was married and had to children but was forced to divorce her husband and marry Ar-Pharazon. Her ex-husband and her son were killed but her daughter survived and Miriel's ghost watched over her descendents. Every 150 years Dark Acolytes would kill one of the descendents in order to keep that nasty little beast in the cave alive while waiting for the true Heir of Numenor. Enter Faramir. He was tricked into not listening to Miriel's warnings and ended up almost being sacrificed to Morgoth. Oh, and the reason Aragorn was partially able to lift the sword and get through the elvish shield at the cave was because he has the blood of the Kings of Numenor even if it wasn't directly. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story!


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